


The Resistance

by enchantedsleeper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Gap Filler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedsleeper/pseuds/enchantedsleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Deathly Hallows' Gap-filler. We all know what Ron, Hermione and Harry were doing during the events of the seventh book; this is the story of the second Dumbledore's Army, led by Neville, Ginny, Luna and Seamus, and the resistance against Snape and the Carrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving for Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic back in 2007 straight after the release of the 7th book, seizing upon the chance to write about some of my favourite characters in the series (Luna, Neville and Ginny) being badass. Plus, they deserve to have their story told. X3 Four years later I'm still plodding along (very slowly and unreliably!) with chapter 6 of a possible 14-16, trying to get a couple of new ones written in time for the release of the last film. Hope you all enjoy, and please leave a comment :D
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling; this fanfiction is merely written for entertainment purposes; any original characters in this fic which do not appear in the Harry Potter novels are the property of the author, so please do not use them without permission.

Ginny stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, clutching the handle of her trolley and staring blankly at the scarlet stream train waiting to take her to Hogwarts. She’d never left with such mixed feelings before; then again, she’d never left in circumstances like this before, either.

Predominant among those feelings was worry. Worry for her father, working at a Voldemort-controlled Ministry; worry for her brothers, doing who-knew-what dangerous work for the Order; worry for the other Order members, whom she’d become friends with over the past few years; and above all, worry for Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had effectively disappeared, embarking on an unknown and most definitely dangerous mission. A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she realised anew that she might never see them again.

Ginny also felt nervous anticipation, not knowing what to expect when she arrived at Hogwarts. What would it be like now? A Hogwarts without the benign presence of Dumbledore watching over them was almost unthinkable, let alone one with Snape as headmaster and two Death Eaters as teachers. The positions had been confirmed in that morning’s Daily Prophet, which had arrived just as Ginny, her mother, Fred and George were leaving. They had made the time to come and see her off, since Arthur Weasley had needed to get to work, and Bill and Charlie were both busy with Order work (not much of a honeymoon for Bill).

Ginny had known that at some point, she would be the only Weasley attending Hogwarts, but she hadn’t expected that time to come a year early. There were tears in Molly Weasley’s eyes as she drew her daughter close and hugged her, and Ginny had to blink rapidly to prevent tears forming in her own eyes. She had felt so frustrated that she wasn’t old enough to be in the Order, and that everyone kept leaving her out and treating her like a little girl. It had been her intent to argue against going to Hogwarts at all; it wasn’t fair that she should be the only one to do so. But then Ginny had overheard her mother saying to her father how relieved she was that at least Ginny would be safe, and out of the way of the fighting, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Bye Mum,” said Ginny, managing to keep her voice steady. She smiled slightly. “I’d ask you to write to me, but of course, they’ll be reading all the post… Still, let me know if you can whether everyone’s safe, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Molly answered. She stepped back as Fred and George took it in turns to hug their sister. Fred held on to Ginny’s shoulders and gave her an uncharacteristically serious look; Ginny wondered what was coming next.

“As the only Weasley left at Hogwarts, it is your duty,” said Fred, “to give Snape hell from us. Understand?” Ginny broke into a grin. “We’ve packed all our latest products into our Deluxe Box and given it to you, free of charge. So don’t waste it.”

Ginny glanced at their mother to see how she was taking this encouragement of wrong-doing. Molly had caught the words ‘Deluxe Box’ and was just putting two and two together. “Fred!” she admonished sternly. “There is no need to encourage your sister in troublemaking. If anything, she ought to stay out of trouble as much as possible!”

Fred was unfazed. “Ginny’s got to do her bit for the resistance, mum,” he told her. “She’s going to be stuck at Hogwarts, she’ll need some entertainment.” Ginny wasn’t sure she appreciated this reminder of her position, but she knew Fred meant no offence. He and George had had the time of their lives with Umbridge, and left a legacy that any wannabe-troublemakers would have a hard time outdoing. It was only natural then that she, as the only Weasley at Hogwarts, should do the same.

“Oh, and keep an _ear_ to the ground,” added George. Ginny rolled her eyes. “We’ve been coming up with ways to communicate what’s really happening to everyone, since the Ministry’s keeping a tight hold on the Prophet and the WWN.” Neither the Daily Prophet nor the Wizarding Wireless Network was reporting the real truth about all the killings and raids, Muggle and wizard alike, so neither was an entirely reliable source of news any longer.

Fred and George helped Ginny lift her trunk into an empty compartment. Someone else stepped into the carriage, and Ginny spun around to see who it was. It was Neville, looking serious but with an air of more self-confidence than Ginny remembered him having. His hair was also a little longer than it had been last year. “Hey, Neville! Did you have a good summer?” she greeted him with deliberate cheerfulness.

“It wasn’t bad, considering what’s been going on; Gran’s finally starting to say she’s proud of me, after I helped fight at the end of last year. Something good came out of that, at least.” Neville grinned briefly, and Ginny remembered how he’d been taken to the hospital wing in order to recover after the fight with Voldemort’s Death Eaters. She was glad that his grandmother seemed to think he was starting to live up to his father, in whose shadow Neville had grown up. As Neville accepted Fred’s offer to help with his suitcase, Ginny wondered how he was coping with the fact that the Lestranges, who had tortured his parents into insanity, were once again at large, as they had been some twenty years ago.

The train began to move off. Ginny slid the door shut, and leaned out of the window to wave to her mother and brothers. She withdrew as it rounded the corner, and went to sit down with Neville. She was beginning to feel more like herself already, and felt a little silly that she had been so emotional about leaving her family; of course she would see them again. Harry, too. She and her friends could take whatever Snape and the Carrows decided to dish out; after all, they’d shown Umbridge, hadn’t they? Hmm, maybe they should re-start the DA… It wouldn’t be quite the same without Harry as leader, but it would be better than nothing.

Ginny looked up as the carriage door slid open and smiled at the sight of another familiar face. “Hi, Luna! Good summer?”

“Yes, thank you,” Luna replied happily. “Hello, Neville.” She was holding, as usual, a copy of the magazine her father edited, The Quibbler. An exclusive interview with Harry about the return of Voldemort had done a lot to improve the magazine’s reputation and circulation. “You’ve grown your hair.”

“Oh – yeah, I have. Gran’s a bit more lenient with my appearance these days,” said Neville. Luna nodded, as if she had expected nothing less. “I thought it was about time she recognised you as a grandson worth having,” she stated, opening the magazine and proceeding to read. Neville went a little pink, unsure how to respond to this strangely-worded compliment.

After a couple of seconds of slightly awkward silence, Ginny asked, “How’s The Quibbler doing?”

“It’s doing very well,” Luna replied proudly. “Daddy’s decided to print less stories about exotic creatures,” Neville and Ginny caught each other’s eye, both hiding smiles; Luna’s idea of "exotic creatures" was everyone else’s idea of ridiculous nonsense, and with names like ‘Blibbering Humdinger’ and ‘Wrackspurt’ it was easy to see why, “and more on the truth about You-Know-Who’s takeover. He prints the facts that the public has been blinded to, and always tells people to support Harry.” She displayed the magazine cover, which bore the headline, ‘SUPPORT HARRY POTTER’ in large letters. Underneath was the same picture of Harry that had been used for the original interview with The Quibbler two years ago: grinning in an embarrassed fashion, untidy black hair falling across his bright green eyes. Harry had matured a lot, both in appearance and in character, since that picture was taken. But Ginny had always been able to see the slightly awkward teenage boy, uncomfortable at being thrust into the spotlight again and again, underneath the heroic exterior that everyone else imagined. She felt a pang in her stomach; the picture brought home just how long it had been since she’d seen Harry last. To distract herself, she scanned the rest of the cover, which advertised features such as ‘Real-life Encounters With Dark Wizards’, ‘Top 10 Reasons to Support Harry Potter’ and ‘How to Heliopath-Proof Your Home’.

Just then, they became aware of some sort of disturbance in the next carriage: scuffling sounds, almost as if a fight had broken out. Neville glanced uncertainly towards the door; Luna, unperturbed, continued reading The Quibbler. Ginny was just about to go to the door and see what was happening, when she heard a loud, arrogant voice saying, “Make way, make way, pure-blood coming through.” Her first thought was of Draco Malfoy, but she couldn’t believe he would have bothered to return to school now that Voldemort was in power; he was a Death Eater, after all. So who…?

Her question was answered as the carriage door opened, and a brown-haired boy stepped through, followed by three other students. Ginny recognised the brown-haired boy as being Thomas Miller, a fifth-year Slytherin. He was of average height and build, unremarkable in appearance, yet he walked and talked as if he owned the whole school. She recognised one of the students accompanying him as well: Henry Trotter. He was a sixth-former of the same breed as Crabbe and Goyle: tall and heavyset, as mean as he was stupid. The other two students accompanying him she didn’t know: one was a fourth-year, small and nasty with black hair, and the other was a thin, sallow-skinned and dark-haired fifth-former with a permanent bored expression on his face. With a hooked nose he could almost have been related to Snape, Ginny thought with some amusement.

Miller surveyed the carriage occupants with contempt. “Well, if it isn’t two chief members of Potter’s fanclub and his girlfriend.” His eyes rested on Ginny. “Or has he dumped you? He doesn’t seem to be here, does he?” Ginny folded her arms and made no move to reply; what business of Miller’s was it, where Harry was?

Seeing that he wasn’t about to get an answer, Miller went on, “No need to ask what _your_ blood status is, of course. Everyone knows the Weasleys are a bunch of no-good blood traitors. As for _Loony_ Lovegood, well. Whatever your blood status, it’s obvious your lot belong in the lunatic asylum.”

Luna merely raised her protuberant eyes from the magazine, looking surprised to see Miller standing there. Ginny, however, wasn’t having any of that. Nor, it appeared, was Neville. He had already drawn his wand and got to his feet, pointing it steadily at Miller. “You take that back,” he said forcefully, and red sparks shot from the end of his wand to emphasise his point. Ginny drew her own wand and stood up, pointing it at Trotter, who took a step forward and cracked his knuckles.

Miller looked surprised for a moment, before the expression gave way to a smirk. “You’re Neville Longbottom, aren’t you? Of course, you’d know all about lunatic asylums, what with your parents-” The rest of his sentence was lost as Neville yelled, “ _Furnunculus_!”

Miller staggered back into his cronies, who watched dumbstruck as boils began springing up all over his face. Gingerly putting a hand up to feel the boils, Miller’s face darkened and he drew his wand. Before he could retaliate, however, Ginny shouted, “Protego!” The shield charm expanded in front of Neville, and whatever hex or jinx Miller had tried to use – the incantation had been lost as Ginny shouted hers – dissipated harmlessly without reaching Neville.

Looking furious, the small fourth-year drew his wand, and so (looking serenely unconcerned) did Luna, making it three against three. The sallow-skinned student slouched against the doorframe, apparently having no interest in joining the battle. Before another round of spells could commence, however, a voice from behind Miller and his gang said, “What’s going on here, then?”

“Seamus!” exclaimed Neville, recognising the voice. Sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan pushed his way through the group of bullies, his wand at the ready. At first Ginny thought he was wearing some sort of strange necklace, then she realised that a frightened-looking first-year girl had her arms fastened around Seamus’ neck.

“That lot put a leg-locker jinx on her, and I can’t remember the counter-jinx,” said Seamus, casting a dark look at Miller. “Can you, Neville?”

“Yeah, Malfoy used to use me as practice for jinxes in first year,” Neville replied wryly. He performed the counter-jinx and the little girl’s legs sprang apart. She let go of Seamus and dropped to the ground; Luna guided her towards an empty seat and gave her a bright, disarming smile, which she returned uncertainly.

Seamus turned towards Miller, who seemed to recognise that Neville, Ginny, Luna and Seamus each knew more jinxes and hexes than he and his group put together. Muttering a resentful, “Come on,” he led the way out of the carriage.

“Stupid git,” Seamus commented as he closed the carriage door. “Thinks he’s all that just because he’s pure-blood. There’ll be plenty more idiots like him around now the Ministry’s introduced blood status.” He sat down next to the first-year girl. “This is Laura, by the way.”

“Where’s Dean, Seamus?” asked Neville, and Ginny realised with a start that her ex-boyfriend was not accompanying Seamus as he usually did.

Seamus looked grim. “I’d hoped you would know. Still, I think I have a fair idea; he’s Muggle-born, isn’t he? And this whole blood status thing was invented to stop Muggle-borns from coming back to Hogwarts. He's probably lying low.”

“My mum’s a Muggle-born,” piped up Laura unexpectedly. “And my dad’s a Muggle. Thomas knows that because we used to live next door to each other. I never liked him very much, but he never picked on me before.”

There was a silence, until Ginny said, “We need to restart Dumbledore’s Army.”

Seamus looked up, surprised; Neville nodded in agreement; Luna looked delighted, and Laura looked puzzled.

“Oh, yes, let’s do that!” Luna exclaimed. “I loved the DA. It was nice to be able to fight back, for once, and it always felt as if I had lots of friends.”

“I think we’re going to need it, with Snape in charge,” Neville agreed. “It’s a shame Harry can’t be here to lead us, like before.” No one enquired as to Harry’s whereabouts, for which Ginny was grateful.

“Are you talking about _Harry Potter_?” asked Laura, clearly awestruck. “My cousins have told me all about him! He’s nothing like the Ministry says he is.”

“Who are your cousins?” asked Neville with interest. Ginny had an idea of who might have instilled such a reaction into Laura.

“Colin and Dennis Creevey,” Laura replied, proving Ginny’s suspicions right. “They weren’t supposed to come back to Hogwarts, because they’re Muggle-borns, but we all got on the train together, and no one stopped us. I hope they’re all right.” She bit her lip, clearly thinking of what Miller might have done to them.

“They’ll be all right; they were in the DA the year before last,” Ginny reassured her. “Dumbledore’s Army was a group of students who used to learn spells that would enable us to hold our own in a duel.”

Laura’s face lit up. “Oh, wow! Can I join?”

“I don’t see why not,” Seamus said. “Gotta learn to defend yourself at some point. I wonder who else would be willing to join again?” he added to Neville, Ginny and Luna. “Who was in it last time? Lavender, the Patil twins, Ernie, Hannah, Michael Corner…”

“There’ll be loads of people missing, though,” Neville pointed out. “All the sixth-formers, plus Harry, Ron and Hermione… Hannah disappeared last year, too, after her mum…” He trailed off, but they all knew what he had been about to say: Hannah Abbot’s mother had been found dead last year, and since being taken out of Herbology to learn the news, Hannah hadn’t been seen.

“We’ll find new members,” said Ginny firmly. “Do you all still have your fake Galleons?”

Luna produced hers immediately; it seemed she’d been carrying it around in her pocket ever since she was first given it. Neville also found his quickly, in the pocket of his robes, which he had yet to change into. Ginny was sure she’d seen hers whilst packing her suitcase, and Seamus reckoned his would be around somewhere.

“We’ll need to get some more from somewhere though, for the new members,” he said.

“We can do that. We ought to make a list of the members, so we know who’s in… Does anyone know how to put a jinx on the parchment like Hermione did last time?”

They carried on making plans as the train drew closer to Hogwarts. It felt good to have a sense of purpose again, Ginny thought as the boys left in order to let the girls change into their robes. Maybe being ‘stuck at Hogwarts’ wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	2. The New Headmaster

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Sean waved goodbye to Laura; she would be travelling to the castle by enchanted boat along with the rest of the first-years. Ginny felt greatly reassured hearing the familiar call of “Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way!” and seeing Hagrid’s massive form silhouetted against the darkening sky. She waved, and after a couple of tries, managed to catch Hagrid’s eye. He seemed as relieved to see a friendly face as she was; breaking into a grin, he waved back and called, “All righ’, Ginny? See yeh inside!” Ginny imagined he had been searching the crowds of students for a glimpse of Ron, Harry and Hermione, before remembering they would be absent from school this year.

She found Luna, Neville and Sean getting into one of the apparently horseless carriages which transported the older students up to the castle – though Ginny now knew that the carriages were in fact pulled by Thestrals, having ridden one in her fourth year. Thestrals were only visible to those who had seen someone die, and Ginny remembered with another tug at her heart that Harry could see Thestrals, having witnessed the death of Cedric Diggory in his own fourth year. So could Luna, who was happily patting what Ginny assumed to be the Thestral’s head, and receiving some very strange looks for it (of which she took no notice); and Neville, who kept his distance but was clearly watching the interaction between the two.

The crowds of chattering students which poured into the Great Hall seemed, at first, to be like any other year. Gradually, though, Ginny began to notice division amongst the students. Some small groups of people were keeping entirely to themselves, as if the masses surrounding them had a contagious disease. A few individual students had been isolated altogether by their peers.

Seamus and Neville had noticed this too. “Pure-bloods,” said Seamus dourly. “And Muggle-borns.”

“There’re quite a few Muggle-borns still here,” Ginny observed.

“They might have been better off if they hadn’t come.” Neville voiced what they were all thinking, though Ginny was surprised at herself for thinking it. Hogwarts had always been an accepting and accommodating school before – when Dumbledore was Headmaster.

Once everyone was seated at their respective house tables, the Sorting Hat was carried in and the hall fell silent. Every eye was on the Hat, including those of the petrified first-years lined up and ready to be Sorted. The Sorting Hat opened its ‘mouth’ – a wide rip in the brim – and began to sing:

_“A very long time ago  
In Hogwarts history  
Before the founders four  
Had become the founders three,  
Each founder had a treasure  
Crafted with great magical skill  
That could enhance the user’s magic  
As so was the object’s will.  
These treasures could protect, empower  
Grant wisdom unimpaired  
But the greatest treasure by far  
Was the friendship the four shared.  
There are secrets bound within this school  
And most are best forgotten  
For many a thief stole many a jewel  
And suffered for gains ill-gotten.  
The time for forgiveness is at hand  
To put old wrongs to right  
To stand strong before our foes  
We must, as friends, unite;  
Repair the bonds of friendship that  
Of old were rent asunder  
And thus protect the treasures which  
Our foes would wish to plunder.  
Come try me on, and I will tell  
In which house you belong  
But after you’ve been Sorted  
Don’t forget my Sorting song;  
Although it is my sad duty  
To separate you all  
We all must stand together  
Or divided we shall fall.”_

It was normal for the Sorting Hat’s song to be followed by an enthusiastic round of applause. This time, however, a rather uncertain bout of clapping ensued, punctuated by a great deal of whispered comments. Nevertheless, the Sorting Hat bowed to each of the four houses as usual, and then was still.

Neville, who was sitting to Ginny’s right, nudged her and whispered, “Look at the Grey Lady!”

Ginny sought out the ghost of Ravenclaw, hovering behind Terry Boot. The usually serene ghost had a wide-eyed expression, bordering on horror, one hand pressed to her cheek. She kept glancing over to the Slytherin table, where the Bloody Baron hovered with an impassive face.

Just then, Ginny realised that sitting next to Terry Boot was one of Miller’s cronies from the train – the sallow-skinned, lanky youth who so resembled Snape. _I suppose not everyone bad has to be in Slytherin,_ thought Ginny. _It was pretty narrow-minded of me to assume they all were._

The room gradually quietened again in preparation for the Sorting. Ginny heard a girl to her left whisper, “I don’t understand… My cousin Huey was supposed to be coming this year, but he didn’t meet me on the train and he’s not in that line.” Ginny recognised the voice as belonging to Elena Hughes, a third-year. _Ten Galleons says her cousin’s Muggle-born,_ she thought.

Professor McGonagall began reading out first-years’ names from a long roll of parchment. “Abercrombie, Amanda!”

As Amanda walked forward to put on the Sorting Hat, the conversation to Ginny’s left continued.

“Are you sure he’s really a wizard? His parents _are_ both Muggles…”

 _Ten Galleons to me._

“Yes, I know he got the letter,” said Elena unhappily.

 _“Gryffindor!”_ shouted the Sorting Hat, and the Gryffindor table applauded enthusiastically. Elena and her friend stopped talking in order to join in.

“Anderson, Huey!”

There was an intake of breath to Ginny’s left. “That’s him! Where is he?”

Heads all around the Great Hall were turning this way and that, no doubt expecting the missing boy to materialise. Ginny noticed that Professor McGonagall was wearing an expression of grim determination. She knew, Ginny realised, that Huey Anderson wouldn’t be coming to Hogwarts, but she wasn’t going to keep quiet about it.

Ginny’s eyes travelled to the High Table, and she couldn’t help shuddering a little at the sight of Snape sitting in the high-backed gold chair usually occupied by Dumbledore. His head was turned as he gave Filch, the caretaker, some quiet instructions. Filch nodded and made his way over to Professor McGonagall, then spoke into her ear. He kept his voice low, but Professor McGonagall took no such trouble; her reply came in a loud and ringing voice.

“What do you mean, ‘He will not be attending this school’? His name is on the list!”

Filch’s reply was again inaudible, but Ginny could see Professor McGonagall’s expression change to one of fury.

At the High Table, Snape got to his feet. There was an instant hush; the school seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“There has been a mistake with the list,” said Snape smoothly. “The student in question is of Muggle parentage and has no magical ability.”

“That’s not true!” burst out Elena, and in the silence her voice carried all around the Hall. Turning bright red, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape looked at her, and she cowered in her seat, shaking, but he said nothing to her and sat back down. Professor McGonagall continued reading out names, her fingers gripping the parchment a little more tightly than usual.

“Creevey, Laura!”

Laura Creevey trotted out of line, her eyes searching the house tables as she went. She spotted Ginny, Neville and Seamus at the Gryffindor table and grinned at them, before putting the Sorting Hat onto her head. It fell down over her eyes, and there was a few seconds’ pause before the hat shouted, _“Gryffindor!”_ The Gryffindor table all applauded, and Seamus moved up to create a space for Laura between himself and Neville.

There were no more mysteriously missing students on the list, it seemed, and presently the Sorting ended with Ella Whitsun of Hufflepuff house. Food materialised onto golden platters and the feast began.

Halfway through the first course, Ginny became aware that a whole group of Gryffindors were listening to Elena talk about her cousin.

“I was there when he got accidentally pushed into a pond and the whole thing froze over as soon as he touched it,” she said. “He was really excited about coming here.” Elena bit her lip and tears welled up in her eyes. In a choked voice she said, “He had a w-wand and – and all the spell books and now he’ll never get to go to Hogwarts!” She burst into tears and buried her face in her arms; the girl next to her gave her a hug and rubbed her back soothingly. Ginny wondered how first-years like Huey had even been able to buy wands, since Ollivander had mysteriously disappeared last year. She supposed someone else had taken up the trade in his place.

“There’s a boy down my road who was meant to be coming to Hogwarts this year.” A girl with ginger hair whose name Ginny didn’t know continued the discussion. “McGonagall didn’t even mention his name.”

“Well, she couldn’t keep doing that, could she? She’d get sacked for sure,” said a fourth-year boy. “My mate Ali who’s in Hufflepuff knows two people who haven’t come back. Both of them are Muggle-born.”

This connection caused quite a stir amongst the various listeners, as it came to light that the other missing students were Muggle-born as well, but it was no surprise to Ginny. She glanced to her right and saw that Neville, Seamus and Laura were all listening as well. Neville looked angry but resigned, whilst Laura looked upset; Seamus simply shook his head and returned to his steak and kidney pie.

Some time later, the last of the food faded from the plates, dishes and tureens. Snape again rose to his feet and silence fell.

“I have several announcements which need to be made,” he said, without any introduction or friendly greeting, as Dumbledore would have done. “Firstly, I regret to inform you that Charity Burbage has resigned from her post as Muggle Studies teacher.”

He didn’t sound as if he regretted it at all, Ginny thought contemptuously.

“The position will therefore be fulfilled by Professor Alecto Carrow,” Snape continued. Ginny sought out Alecto at the High Table, sitting two seats away from Snape, next to McGonagall. She had narrow, sloping shoulders, straggly brown hair and an expression of permanent distaste on her face. She didn’t rise from her chair as her name was announced, although her expression changed to a triumphant smirk that was almost worse. Ginny was sure Alecto must be a Death Eater. She tried to remember if she’d seen her in the Department of Mysteries when they’d gone on that futile rescue mission, but everything after she’d broken her ankle had been a painful haze, and her memories before that were more like snapshots, quick flashes of people and places and duels. Ginny didn’t like re-examining them too closely.

It was customary (and polite) to applaud the announcement of a new teacher, and so most people did, but the applause was brief and unenthusiastic.

“I also have the pleasure,” Snape said as tonelessly as he’d announced Charity Burbage’s resignation, “of announcing that the post of Dark Arts teacher will be taken up by Professor Amycus Carrow.”

Barely anyone clapped this time; there were outbreaks of shocked murmuring all around the Hall as students realised what Snape had just said.

“This is worse than what Umbridge did! It was bad enough not learning to defend ourselves, but now students are being _taught_ the Dark Arts?!” Ginny muttered furiously to Neville. He nodded gravely.

“We’re really going to need Dumbledore’s Army this year.”

“The subjects of Dark Arts and Muggle Studies,” Snape continued without raising his voice, as if there had been no talking whatsoever, “will furthermore be compulsory to all students, even those who are taking their N.E.W.T. examinations this year.”

Ginny frowned, confused and annoyed. She could understand why teaching students the Dark Arts would benefit Snape, but Muggle Studies? She felt as if she was missing something. Beside her, Neville murmured, “All the better to brainwash us with.” Ginny looked round at him in surprise; a year or two ago, she would never have imagined him saying something so cynical. Still, it paid to be cynical in times like these. She was sure Mad-Eye Moody would have approved.

“The Ministry of Magic has decreed that there be a new format for discipline in this school,” was Snape’s next announcement. There was a pause, in which Ginny could see one or two of the younger students struggling to work out the long words. “In order to standardise the allocation of punishment and prevent potentian bias, any pupils who are to receive detention, or who have misbehaved in any way, must be referred by their teacher to our new professors,” he indicated them with one hand, “who will allocate a suitable punishment.”

Ginny could see that none of the teachers were at all pleased with this loss of authority. It was being made very clear to them where they stood in relation to the Carrows. And Snape was a fine one to talk about being biased when handing out punishments!

“The Quidditch House Cup will take place as usual this year. Trials will be held on the 5th of September, which is the first Saturday of term for the more… intellectually challenged of you.”

Ginny didn’t even hear Snape’s insult; she felt as if something cold and icy had just slid into the pit of her stomach. Officially, Harry was still the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain: he might not have returned to school this year, but he hadn’t technically left the school either. Ginny dreaded to think how the team would fare without the person who was both its Captain and the best Seeker the team had had in decades. Ron wasn’t there to be Keeper, either, so they’d need another one of those… Ginny put a hand to her head, almost missing the fact that Snape had finished the announcements and people were beginning to disperse to their various house dormitories. She got up and followed Neville and Seamus, still wondering where they were going to get a Quidditch team from. It seemed an absurd thing to be worrying about, what with all the other terrible things that were going on at Hogwarts and in the outside world, but Ginny felt as if they really needed to win the Quidditch Cup again this year. For Harry’s sake.

“Miss Weasley.”

Ginny jumped and turned to see who had spoken to her. It was Professor McGonagall. “Yes, Professor?”

She could have sworn Professor McGonagall cast a surreptitious glance around the Hall before continuing. “Due to the absence of Mr. Potter, I am designating you as Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor,” Professor McGonagall informed her.

Ginny was shocked, although she had to admit, it was a fairly logical appointment, if only because she was the most senior remaining member of last year’s Quidditch team. “Me?”

“Yes. I expect to see you training the team hard. To lose the Cup this year, on top of everything else…”

Ginny nodded. She suspected that Professor McGonagall was especially keen for Slytherin _not_ to win. “I’ll do my best, Professor.”

She hurried to catch up with Neville and Seamus; Laura had already gone on ahead with the other first years. Upon reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, however, they realised that none of them knew the new password. Just then, Ginny heard footsteps; she turned to see Romilda Vane approaching. Romilda had regarded Ginny as her arch-rival ever since she had started going out with Harry, and she wasn’t Ginny’s preferred person to be ‘rescued’ by. Still, if she knew the password…

“Lep-” began Romilda, and then stopped as she caught sight of Ginny. The Fat Lady, who had been preparing to swing open, raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Romilda ignored her, and looked hard at Ginny. Ginny was glad that Romilda was in the year below her, so that she didn’t have to endure being in the same class as her. Still, Romilda wasn’t surrounded by her usual gang of giggling friends, so maybe she’d matured a little over the summer?

Those hopes were dashed as Romilda asked abruptly, “Where’s Harry? I didn’t see him at the Feast.” She looked around as if expecting Harry to pop out from behind a tapestry.

Ginny’s mind worked quickly in order to come up with a reply that implied that she knew where Harry was without giving any specific detail. Above all, she couldn’t let Romilda know that she and Harry were no longer together. Before she could formulate a reply, however, Seamus cut in. “What’s it to you, where Harry is?”

Romilda ignored him, her eyes gleaming suddenly. “He’s fighting You-Know-Who, isn’t he? He really IS the Chosen One! I knew it!” She had either not noticed, or had disregarded, Harry’s transition in the public eye from ‘Chosen One’ to ‘Public Enemy Number One’.

Neither Seamus nor Neville stepped in this time, and Ginny realised that they were half-hoping she’d confirm what Romilda had just said, or let slip some other information regarding Harry’s whereabouts. But even Ginny didn’t know exactly where Harry had gone. “It’s none of your business,” she told Romilda. “It’s private; I don’t see why I should tell you.”

“If you’re planning on sending him any more love potions, pass them on to us; we’ll make sure he doesn’t get them,” added Seamus with a smirk. Besides the Weasleys and Harry, only Neville, Dean and Seamus knew about Ron’s mistaken consumption of a love potion intended for Harry.

Romilda pressed her lips together, unable to think of a comeback; tossing her hair, she turned to the Fat Lady and said shortly, “Leprechaun.” The Fat Lady swung forwards to admit the four Gryffindors.

Ginny said goodnight to Neville and Seamus as they disappeared up to the boys’ dormitories. She ascended the girls’ staircase and entered her own dormitory, which she shared with three other girls: Kimberley, Helen and Niamh. Kimberley had been made a Prefect the previous year, and no wonder: she came top in virtually every subject, with marks to rival Hermione’s. She was also very sensible, but rather cold and withdrawn; she spent most of her time in the library, and didn’t have any particular friends. Ginny had yet to work out why she was in Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw, which was the house the cleverest students were usually sorted into.

Niamh was small and bubbly, with dark hair, bright blue eyes and a liking for mischief and practical jokes. She wasn’t bad on a broomstick, light and speedy enough to possibly be a good Seeker. Ginny would have to ask her about that. Helen was sweet, kind and a little overweight with brown hair and round glasses rather like Harry’s. She wasn’t very good at keeping secrets because she was a very honest person, and tended to cave under pressure. However, she had plenty of friends because of her open and unpretentious nature.

Helen and Niamh had always been best friends, an inseparable pair. It was therefore a great surprise for Ginny to see Niamh walking through the door without Helen accompanying her. “Niamh, where’s Helen?” Ginny asked her. Niamh turned, on the point of climbing into bed, and Ginny saw that her eyes were very red.

“I… I don’t know,” she replied, her voice trembling. Ginny’s stomach turned over as she remembered that Helen was Muggle-born. It had never made a difference to any of them, so she hadn’t thought anything of it, but now it was a matter of life and death. Impulsively, she crossed the gap between them and drew Niamh into a hug. Niamh’s restraint cracked and she burst into tears; Ginny’s shoulder was soon soaked. She patted Niamh on the back, letting her get it all out. After a few minutes, Kimberley’s face poked out through her hangings to see what the noise was, but withdrew once she had taken in the scene. Ginny couldn’t imagine she would be good at comforting anyone. She barely talked at all.

It was a good ten minutes before Niamh finished crying. Ginny had caught phrases like ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without her’, and ‘What if the Death Eaters…’ Her heart went out to Niamh, and even though she didn’t normally spend much time with the bubbly Gryffindor, she said,

“Helen will be all right, I expect her parents just wanted to keep her safe at home. Don’t worry about being lonely; I’ll walk with you to lessons and we’ll write to Helen to let her know what’s going on, okay?” She wasn’t too sure about the second idea, but she knew it would cheer Niamh up. Sure enough, Niamh gave her a watery smile.

“Thanks, Ginny… I think I’ll try and get some sleep, don’t want to have puffy eyes in the morning…”

She disappeared behind the hangings of her four-poster bed, and Ginny was able to climb into her own bed at last. She pulled on her pyjamas without really thinking about anything in particular, but somehow in the time between beginning to undress and sliding between her warm sheets, her mind had landed on the Sorting Hat’s unusually cryptic song and was pondering the ‘treasures’ it had referred to. Treasures which belonged to the founders… and possessed extraordinary magical power… well, she knew of _one_ object that had belonged to a founder, and that was the Sword of Gryffindor (the Sorting Hat itself had also belonged to Gryffindor, come to think of it) … Harry had used it to kill the basilisk and save her… it must have remarkable power to be able to slay a _basilisk_ … thank goodness it was safe in Dumbledore’s office…

Ginny sat bolt upright as she suddenly realised what the Sorting Hat must have been trying to say. Dumbledore’s office would be Snape’s office now! So Snape would have access to Gryffindor’s sword… And since Snape was Voldemort’s pawn at Hogwarts then so, by logical association, would Voldemort…

Ginny felt sick to the stomach as she imagined what destruction Voldemort could wreak with a sword that had such powerful magical properties. There was no question about it: she had to retrieve that sword.


	3. The Sword of Gryffindor

It is said that a night’s sleep does wonders for helping to solve problems in one’s life; the subconscious works on problems while the conscious sleeps, allowing the person to wake up and find that they have the perfect solution. Either Ginny’s subconscious wasn’t quite feeling up to problem-solving that first night at Hogwarts, or there really was no solution to her problem, because by morning, she was none the wiser on how she intended to steal the Sword of Gryffindor from Snape’s office.

No matter which way she looked at it, there were innumerable obstacles that she couldn’t think how to overcome: what would the password to Snape’s office be? How would she break any protective charms that might be surrounding the sword? How would she be able to smuggle it out of the office without being caught – assuming, of course, that Snape had vacated the office in the first place, and for a long enough period of time – and what would she even do with it once she had?

Ginny lay in bed for a long while upon waking up, thinking things through, but eventually she was forced to admit defeat and get dressed. Emerging from her hangings, she was surprised to find Niamh waiting for her. Kimberley was down at breakfast already, being a fairly early riser, and normally Niamh and Helen would go down quite promptly as well.

“Hey, Niamh,” said Ginny, remembering and slightly regretting her promise last night. “Shall we… go down for breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay, let’s go!” Niamh replied eagerly, and Ginny cringed inwardly. How did Helen put up with Niamh? She was like a puppy, constantly cheerful and always tagging along. Good fun in small doses, but otherwise, a bit too much.

“Oh, wait – we’ll need our N.E.W.T applications,” Ginny realised. For some reason, Niamh bit her lip as Ginny said that, but she pulled a rolled-up application from her trunk like Ginny, so Ginny dismissed it.

They managed to make it into the Great Hall in time for the morning post. Since Ginny’s only pet was a Pygmy Puff bought from her brothers’ joke shop, she knew no owls would be landing in front of her, but Niamh looked up hopefully as they soared overhead. Evidently, she was disappointed, since she returned to her pumpkin juice and toast after a few minutes. In the middle of the owls’ arrival, Neville and Seamus entered the Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table either side of Ginny and Niamh. Reaching for a plate of bacon with one hand, Seamus delved into his pocket with the other. “Found it!” he said triumphantly to Ginny on his left, pulling out the fat, gold fake Galleon he’d been given upon joining the DA.

Niamh gave him a strange look. “You’ve found a Galleon?”

“Oh… yeah, erm, good isn’t it?” Seamus suddenly realised that she was listening, and wasn’t going to know what he was on about.

“Not just any Galleon,” Neville told Niamh, who was to his right. “His _lucky_ Galleon.”

“Yeah… Gonna get me through my N.E.W.T.s, this.”

“Ri-ight,” Niamh said slowly.

After breakfast, the sixth-year Gryffindors, as well as a few others who were still eating (Neville and Seamus included) waited a little apprehensively for Professor McGonagall to come down from the staff table and approve their N.E.W.T choices. The calmest one at the table seemed to be Kimberley, but then Ginny wasn’t surprised. From what she could see, Kimberley looked like she was applying for more N.E.W.T subjects than Hermione, and she had probably received ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.s in all of them.  
Professor McGonagall moved down the Gryffindor table, checking applications against O.W.L results and handing out timetables. Eventually she reached Ginny and Niamh. Ginny unfurled her application and handed it to Professor McGonagall.

“Charms, Potions, Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures, all fine,” said Professor McGonagall. “I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Miss Weasley, very pleased. Defence Against the Dark Arts, unfortunately, is no longer a subject.” Professor McGonagall paused, her lips thinning. “A terrible waste of an ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L, but nothing can be done… Do you wish to take another subject instead?”

Ginny considered it. Ron had given her dire warnings about the amount of work in the sixth year, and even though she suspected him to be guilty of more than a little exaggeration, even Hermione agreed that sixth year was tough. “Can I think about it for a few minutes, Professor?”

“Don’t take too long,” said Professor McGonagall. She moved on to Niamh, and raised her eyebrows as she saw that Niamh was making some hasty alterations to her application.

“Have you not decided on your N.E.W.T choices yet, Miss Dublin?” she asked, causing Niamh to jump guiltily. She handed her application to Professor McGonagall.

“Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration, all fine,” she said. “Your Transfiguration mark, in particular, was exceptional.” She bestowed upon Niamh a rare smile. “However, you only just managed an Acceptable in Care of Magical Creatures… and I never received the impression from Professor Hagrid that you enjoyed the subject much at all.” Niamh went pink. Her self-confidence seemed to have diminished greatly in Helen’s absence. Professor McGonagall looked down the list of Niamh’s O.W.L results, and her eyebrows rose still further.

“You achieved an Outstanding in Herbology,” she noted, “and I have always had glowing reports from Professor Sprout about your prowess. It would be a waste not to take it for N.E.W.T.” She declared this with a tone of finality.

Niamh started to mumble something, but was interrupted as Neville looked round.  
“Oh, you like Herbology?” he said, sounding delighted. “Me too, it’s my favourite subject.”

Niamh blinked rapidly, perhaps taken aback at being addressed by an older student.  
“Yeah, I like Herbology,” she replied, sounding a little breathless. “I’m good at it too,” she added, with a modicum of her old confidence.

“Well then, why don’t you take it?” Neville encouraged her with a smile. Professor McGonagall waited rather impatiently behind them. Opposite Neville, Kimberley caught Professor McGonagall’s eye and handed her application across the table. Professor McGonagall glanced down the list of subjects, nodded briefly, and waved her wand over a blank timetable, handing it back to Kimberley. Kimberley immediately departed for her first lesson.

“I dunno… my mum and dad don’t think plants are that great… Helen never liked it much either.”

“Don’t just do what other people want or don’t want you to do,” Neville advised her. “Do what _you_ want, or you’ll always be unhappy with things.” Ginny knew he was speaking from a lifetime of personal experience.

“Yeah…” Niamh nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Professor McGonagall seemed to bite back a “Finally!” She nodded and glanced down the list of Niamh’s O.W.L results again. “You Exceeded Expectations in Astronomy as well, I see.”

“Oh… yeah, but I don’t think I’d know anyone who…” said Niamh. This time Ginny spoke up.

“A good friend of mine is taking Astronomy this year,” she told her. “Luna Lovegood. She’s in Ravenclaw; she’s really nice.”

“Luna Lovegood?” Niamh seemed to recognise the name. “Oh, but people say she’s completely-”

At the looks on Ginny, Seamus and Neville’s faces, however, she stopped short. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do Astronomy as well…”

“Excellent,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, and she tapped a blank timetable and handed it to Niamh, who looked apprehensive as she realised her first subject of the day was Astronomy. Nevertheless, she smiled weakly at Ginny, slung her bag over her shoulder and left for her first lesson. Ginny raised her eyebrow at Neville.

“That was really… well, inspirational,” she said. Neville went a little pink. “D’you know, I think you’ve persuaded me to take Herbology as well.” Ginny liked subjects which were more practical; she had no aversion to rolling her sleeves up and getting her hands dirty. For that reason, she couldn't stand History of Magic, which was the exact opposite. Mind you, she had yet to meet anyone who _did_ like History of Magic.

Professor McGonagall handed Ginny her timetable, and she saw that she had a free period first thing. “Excellent!” she muttered. Neville and Seamus also received their new timetables, containing the same subjects they had been taking last year but with Dark Arts and Muggle Studies lessons timetabled in. The three compared timetables, and it transpired that Neville also had a free period first. Seamus departed for Transfiguration, and Neville finished off the remainder of his toast. Once he had finished, Ginny asked,  
“Were you planning to go up to the Common Room, by any chance, Neville?”  
She deliberately kept her voice even, as if it were just an innocuous request. Neville caught on, and his eyes flickered briefly towards the staff table, where Snape sat, flanked by the Carrows. None of the teachers were attempting to engage the three in conversation.

“Yeah, I was,” Neville replied in a similar tone. “Were you?”

“I was. Let’s go now.”

They made their way out of the Great Hall and back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, chanting, “Leprechaun,” in unison as they approached. Neither spoke until they were well inside the Common Room, and had sat down in a pair of armchairs. Neville broke the silence first. “What’s up?”

Ginny glanced about, but the common room was deserted since most people were currently in lessons. Nevertheless, she kept her voice low. “You remember that sword that Harry pulled out of the Sorting Hat in his second year and used to fight the Basilisk? The Sword of Gryffindor?”

Neville cast his eyes upwards, recalling, no doubt, the first ever meeting of Dumbledore's Army in the dingy Hog’s Head pub. “Oh yeah, the one that Terry Boot said is hanging in Dumbledore’s – I mean Snape’s – offi…” He trailed off and stared at her. “Oh, shit.”

Ginny nodded, noting that she’d never heard Neville swear before. “Yeah. We need to get it off him, quickly, before he can give it to You-Know-Who.”

Neville flinched – he had always been afraid of Snape – but nodded in determination. “Okay. How are we going to do that?”

Ginny bit her lip. “Well, this is the problem. He doesn’t teach any lessons any more, so he’ll always be in his office.”

“Unless something brings him out of there.” Neville raised his eyebrows at her. “Like when Harry decided he needed to use Umbridge’s fire, back in fifth year.”

Ginny grinned fleetingly; she’d forgotten about that. She remembered what Fred and George used to say to her, when she ever questioned whether they would be able to pull off a prank. “It’s not a question of ‘if’; it’s a question of ‘how’.”

Neville appeared to be thinking along the same lines. “Is there anything from your brothers’ joke shop that might do the trick?”

Ginny jumped up from her armchair. “There might just be.” She hurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory and within a few minutes returned carrying a large, magenta box. In gold letters across the top it read, ‘WEASLEY’S WIZARDING WHEEZES: DELUXE BOX. FOR ALL YOUR TROUBLEMAKING NEEDS.’

Neville watched in amazement as Ginny opened the box to reveal a large assortment of colourful objects. Here and there were some of the products that the twins had pioneered in their time at Hogwarts – several Skiving Snackboxes, a packet of Canary Creams (Neville smiled as he remembered how he had once been an unwitting test subject for those), a Headless Hat – and other more recent developments that were familiar only to Ginny, like Daydreaming Charms and Extendable Ears. She sorted through them with care, aware that one or two were likely to explode when touched, and finally found what she was looking for. “Ah ha!”

Neville examined the black, hooter-like object as Ginny held it aloft. Its legs pedalled uselessly in the air. “What is it?”

“A Decoy Detonator,” Ginny replied. “Brilliant for creating diversions. But this one seems bigger than usual…” She frowned and caught hold of the label attached; her expression instantly changed to one of delight. “Brilliant! Listen to this: ‘The Deluxe Decoy Detonator allows you to record an insult of your choice, which is then played at five times the volume to create both a diversion and a lasting impression on your victim of choice, with added voice distortion to prevent incrimination. Insults must last no longer than ten seconds. Tap once with wand to begin recording and twice to finish.’” She smiled. “This has given me an idea. Let’s see what else is in this box.”

Throughout the entire first period, Neville and Ginny sorted through the box of Wheezes and made their plans. They were anything but sound, and depended largely on chance, but they were a start. Ginny was conscious of time passing, though. Surely Snape wouldn’t wait before handing the sword over to Voldemort? He wouldn’t want to risk being accused of withholding it, and what could he gain from waiting anyway? So the longer that Ginny and Neville took to plan the venture, the more chance there was that it would all be in vain. They would just have to do it, and either succeed or… earn detention trying. Ginny wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out first-hand what the Carrows’ preferred methods of punishment were.

On the way to her second lesson, Charms, Ginny met up with Luna, who was also taking the subject along with Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes (though the teacher had always been little doubtful about some of her interpretations, and disagreed with her theory that the runes had been sent to the future by a prehistoric race of part-humans, part-dragons to warn them of impending doom). The first thing Luna said when she saw her friend was, “You’re planning something.”

“What?” said Ginny, taken aback. “No we’re – I mean – I'm not. Planning anything.”

“Yes you are. I can tell from the look on your face.” Luna’s tone wasn’t accusatory, merely matter-of-fact. Ginny reflected on past incidents where Luna claimed to have been able to tell what people were thinking or what mood they were in by their facial expression, and she had never yet been wrong.

“All right, maybe,” said Ginny, as they entered the classroom and Professor Flitwick called for silence in his squeaky voice, “but don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not,” replied Luna, her eyes widening madly. “I’d rather have my Internal Regnais sucked out by a Hooverdinger.”

Thankfully, Ginny was spared from replying by the start of the lesson. Professor Flitwick announced that they would be briefly revising the _Aguamenti_ charm before moving on to accomplishing it non-verbally. Ginny was taken aback; she had to think for a few seconds before remembering that _Aguamenti_ was the charm which produced water: a testament to just how much she’d forgotten over the summer.

Normally, Charms was a good lesson in which to enjoy a private conversation, but soon silence descended over Ginny’s classmates as they each strained to carry out the charm without saying a word. Next to Ginny, Niamh frantically repeated the wand movement over and over, biting her lip in concentration, until suddenly a jet of solid ice burst from her wand and poked Michael Corner in the back, eliciting an exclamation of annoyance from Ginny’s ex-boyfriend. Unsurprisingly, by the end of the lesson Kimberley had mastered the charm, and only she was exempted from practicing it for homework.  
The rest of the day was similarly strenuous, although thankfully Ginny had neither Muggle Studies nor Dark Arts scheduled, which meant she had yet to experience the Carrows’ ‘teaching’. However, she had both subjects tomorrow, which was bound to be a _bundle_ of fun. As it was, she felt like _her_ internal whatever-it-was was being sucked out by a Hooverdinger. Sixth form was going to be so much harder than fifth.

 

Ginny groaned and stretched her arms above her head as they emerged from the dungeons at the end of the day, shaking her head to try and rid it of potion fumes. Slughorn had held the same competition for a bottle of Felix Felicis as he had for the sixth-formers last year; and of course, Kimberley had won it. She doubted Kimberley would use the potion; in any case, what would her perfect day be like? She already got near-perfect marks in every subject as it was. Ginny felt an ache similar to homesickness in her stomach as this led her to think of Hermione, and by logical progression, Harry and Ron. She wondered what the three of them were doing now.

“Ginny.”

Ginny jumped as a quiet voice sounded next to her ear. She’d been walking along in a daze, not really noticing where she was going; it was a miracle that she hadn’t bumped into anyone. “Oh, hi, Neville.” She looked round and added, “Hi, Luna.”

“Luna says she wants to be in on the you-know-what,” Neville informed her _sotto voce._

Ginny bit her lip as she considered this. Another person would be a help, but then again it would also get Luna into trouble if they didn’t manage it… she was beginning to understand why Harry was always so idiotically adamant about doing everything alone. “Playing the hero”, as Hermione liked to call it. A fond smile curved her lips, and she had to force herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Okay,” she breathed back, knowing it would be easier than persuading Luna not to help them. “But no one else.”

“Fine,” Neville replied. “We need to do it soon.”

“I know…” Ginny glanced down the student-filled corridor. “Where can we go to talk?” The Gryffindor common room was out of the question, because Luna was in Ravenclaw.

“Here.” Neville suddenly pulled them into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind them. He pulled out his wand and performed a complicated movement. _“Espionagis revealio!”_ Nothing happened.

“What does that do?” Ginny asked curiously.

“It reveals any magical forms of eavesdropping,” he replied. “I learnt over the summer.” Then, bringing them back to their original purpose, he said, “I think we should do it tomorrow.”

Ginny’s stomach jolted painfully. “Tomorrow? Are you really sure-”

“I don’t think delaying any longer will do us any good,” said Neville. “Our plan is as good as it’s going to get.” He had an unhappy expression on his face that was reminiscent of his old, awkward self. Ginny hastened to agree, not wanting him to look like that any more.

“All right.” She turned to Luna and prepared to outline their plan. “It’s risky, but this is what we’ve decided to do...”

 

Severus Snape sat at his new desk in the Headmaster’s office, reading the long list of banned items in Hogwarts with increasing irritation. What the hell was a Disillusionable Dingbat anyway? Still, he needed to know the names of all these things so that he could confiscate them if he saw them.

 **“Severus Snape is a greasy-haired git!”**

Snape froze as the insult sounded from outside his door. Whoever it was was obviously using a voice distortion charm, as the voice rose and fell in pitch unnaturally. One of the portraits sniggered, and then hastily stifled the noise as Snape shot them a furious glare. He waited, and then when no more insults seemed forthcoming, continued reading.

 **“Slytherin sucks!”**

“Outrageous!” yelped Phineas Nigellus. The slumbering portrait of Albus Dumbledore cracked open an eye, looking amused. Snape’s eye twitched, but he made no move to get up.

 _“Snivellus loves Mouldymort!”_ This time the voice was very high-pitched, as if its owner were breathing helium.

That was too much. The use of his hated childhood nickname sent Snape lunging to his feet, face white with fury except for a blotch of red in each cheek. He strode over to the door and yanked it open; meanwhile a second voice had joined the first, singing childishly,

 _“Snivellus and Mouldymort, sitting in a tree  
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”_

Snape looked around, unable to spot the singer. He caught sight of something black disappearing round the corner. He followed it, thinking of the punishments he’d like to inflict upon this little idiot. But who could have let slip his old nickname? The werewolf perhaps, or Black…

Just then, an explosion sounded down a corridor to his right. Someone screamed, and all of the students in the corridor froze in shock. Snape hesitated, then strode towards the commotion.

“He’s gone!” hissed Neville to Ginny and Luna. “C’mon, let’s go!”

The three hurried down the corridor to Dumbledore’s – they still couldn’t stop thinking of it as that – office, and then stopped short at the stone gargoyles barring their way.  
“Oh, bum,” said Neville articulately. "We forgot about the password!"

Luna, however, continued to smile. She stepped forward and addressed the gargoyles.

“Hello,” she said serenely. “We’ve come to liberate the Sword of Gryffindor from Snape’s possession, so that Voldemort doesn’t get it. Will you please let us through?”

The gargoyles seemed to appraise her silently, then, to Neville and Ginny’s astonishment, stepped aside to let them through.

“Wow, Luna, you must have some kind of special power of persuasion,” said Neville, impressed.

“I was gifted by the Gernumblies over the summer,” replied Luna. “That must have been the power they gave me.”

“What are Ger-”

“The sword!” interrupted Ginny, before the conversation could digress any further. The so-called ‘Muggle Studies’ lesson she’d just had had fuelled her determination to retrieve the Sword and thwart Voldemort in any way they could.

Neville and Luna looked over, and saw the magnificent, ruby-inset sword lying in a glass case. “Come on, we don’t know how long our diversion will last for.” She approached the case and pulled out her wand. “Alohomora!” Nothing happened.

Neville, meanwhile, was staring around at the portraits which decorated the walls. All of the wizards and witches who occupied them appeared to be asleep, or at least feigning sleep. Suddenly he gasped. “Dumbledore! It’s Dumbledore! Of course!”

 _“Reducto!”_ There was a sound of shattering glass, and Neville whipped around to see Ginny seizing the sword. She removed it from its stand, and the three braced themselves for an alarm spell of some kind, but nothing happened. “Right, come on, let’s go.”

“How’re we going to get it out of here?” asked Neville, momentarily distracted, but Ginny had already whipped off her cloak and was rolling the sword inside it.

“It’s the best we can do. Come on!” Unexpectly, she thrust the sword at him. Neville took it, a little surprised but too preoccupied to question the action.

“But wait – Dumbledore’s here!” he said, gesturing to the sleeping portrait. “We ought to wake him up – we can tell him about the Carrows – he’ll know what to do, and he can tell us what Snape’s been-”

Ginny cut him off urgently. “Another time, Neville. We need to go, now!”

Reluctantly, he followed Ginny and Luna out of the door. They hastened down the corridor, unable to quite believe their good fortune.

“You know, it’s amazing that there weren’t more protective spells on the s-”

The words died on Ginny’s lips as they found themselves face to face with the looming, furious figure of Snape.


	4. Friend and Foe

“Going somewhere, Weasley, Longbottom, Lovegood?” inquired Snape coldly.  
Ginny’s mind worked frantically to come up with an excuse, at the same time moving so that the bundle in Neville’s arms was blocked from view. Maybe, just maybe Snape hadn’t caught sight of it.

“We, we were um, looking for you, Professor- Headmaster,” Ginny improvised, reasoning that there was little else three students could be doing walking down the corridor to the Headmaster’s office. “Because we – well, that is to say, Luna – had a- a premonition.” She felt bad for suddenly turning the attention on Luna, but her friend’s face remained perfectly calm, and she even nodded to back up the claim.

“Yes,” Luna agreed solemnly. In ethereal tones that put Ginny in mind of Professor Trelawney, she stated, “I have received a message from the ether. The message was this: ‘The doe is watching you.’

Ginny could have sworn Snape flinched, which made no sense whatsoever, because in the next moment his face was as impassive as always, and he was saying with a tone of disdain, “I hardly think I need to be afraid of woodland creatures, Miss Lovegood. Would the three of you care to explain the object Mr Longbottom is holding?”

A wave of cold flooded through Ginny, erasing the small amount of hope she had managed to summon. There was no way out of this one. Not only had she got two of her best friends in trouble, but the Sword would no doubt be in Voldemort’s possession before the day was over. There was no way of fighting Snape, or of running and hiding the sword; they couldn’t leave Hogwarts. All at once the castle felt more like a prison than like home.

“Hand it over, Mr Longbottom,” ordered Snape, and slowly, with an expression of deep dislike, Neville complied. Ginny remembered suddenly that Snape had always been Neville’s greatest fear, and she was sure that somewhere underneath the mask of loathing was the terrified young boy Neville had once been. But his composure did not waver.

Snape unwrapped the cloak, and showed no surprise at finding the Sword within. His lip only curled as he said, “Detention, the three of you, and fifty points each from Gryffindor for attempting to steal a highly valuable magical object.”

He made to move past them. Ginny frowned; he hadn’t mentioned what their punishment would be. She didn’t believe for one moment that it was accidental; he was either trying to prolong their worry, or force them to ask him what it was, as a sort of power game. Maybe both. Gritting her teeth, she called out in her steadiest voice, “What’s our punishment, Profe- Headmaster?”

Without turning around, Snape replied, “You will report to Professor Hagrid’s hut at nine o’clock. I’m sure he can find some work for you to do in the Forbidden Forest.”

He disappeared into his office. Ginny stared after him, feeling dizzy with relief and a kind of disbelief. Detention with Hagrid? It was the best kind of detention they could hope for. Heck, it might even be good fun, working with the kinds of creatures that the Forest played host to – like an extended Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Once upon a time, the idea of the Forbidden Forest had scared her, especially with the exaggerated stories that Fred and George used to tell (though even at a young age, she knew better than to quite believe anything the twins said), but since being introduced to some of its occupants, like unicorns and Thestrals (she’d even ridden one of those), she realised what a fascinating place it really was. And she knew that Hagrid would never let them come to any harm.

Plus, it would give them a chance to talk to Hagrid uninterrupted, and ask him what he thought about the Carrows and Snape, maybe get his opinion on re-forming Dumbledore’s Army… Ginny’s heart lifted at the thought. Even remembering about Voldemort possessing the Sword of Gryffindor couldn’t do much to dampen that.

They walked down the corridor until they were safely out of earshot, and then Neville bent towards them conspiratorially. “Did he really think that the Forbidden Forest would scare us?” he asked, sounding just like Ginny felt – unable to believe their luck. “Detention with Hagrid! I can almost look forward to that.”

“I was expecting him to torture us somehow,” Luna admitted in her usual candid manner, and for once Ginny had been thinking the same.

“We just lost our two houses a hundred and fifty points collectively, though,” Ginny reminded them. “We shouldn’t be glad about that.”

Neville shrugged. “To be honest, the House Cup doesn’t seem that important this year, what with You-Know-Who taking over and Snape being Headmaster… we have bigger things to worry about. Besides, hasn’t the Sorting Hat been promoting unity between the Houses for ages? We shouldn’t be competing amongst ourselves any more.”

“That’s true,” agreed Ginny.

 

“That was an admirable thing to do, Severus,” said the portrait of Dumbledore quietly, as Snape re-entered the room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Snape, his face impassive as he waved his wand, repairing the glass case which had contained the false Sword of Gryffindor. He replaced the sword in its case, pretending not to see Dumbledore’s knowing smile.

 

At 9 o’clock, Ginny, Neville and Luna met in the entrance hall for their detention, and found Filch waiting there to escort them down to Hagrid’s Hut. He gave them his characteristic leer and began to lead the way out into the grounds.

“Things are changing around here all right, oh yes, just like two years ago… You miscreants got off lightly this time, but put one more toe out of line and you’ll be sorry… I’ve kept the chains in my office well oiled.” Filch cackled to himself. Ginny and Neville exchanged a glance, but didn’t speak.

They reached Hagrid’s hut, and Filch went up and knocked on the door. Fang’s barking was heard from inside as usual, but it was interspersed, unusually, with growling. Ginny wondered if Fang could smell Filch and didn’t like what he smelt. She didn’t blame him.

The door opened to reveal Hagrid’s massive form. “Back, Fang!” he ordered, as the boarhound snarled at Filch. “All righ’ Filch, I’ll take ‘em from ‘ere.”

Filch sneered at them one last time and shuffled off back up to the castle. Hagrid maintained a stern façade until Filch was safely out of side, and then broke into a wide smile. “All righ’, yeh lot? This way.”

Of course Neville, Ginny and Luna all knew the way to the Forbidden Forest well, having been there for Care of Magical Creatures lessons – and on other occasions, the most memorable being when they had followed Harry, Ron and Hermione to the Forest and from there, flown on Thestrals to the Ministry of Magic in order to rescue Harry’s godfather from Voldemort’s clutches. Neville could also still vividly remember a very similar detention he’d received in his first year which involved venturing into the Forbidden Forest accompanied by Hagrid. Neville was far less frightened of the Forbidden Forest six years later, but the trees still looked dark and ominous as they loomed either side of the little group.

“So, wha’ was it yeh did to earn detention, anyway?” Hagrid asked as they wove their way into the Forest. “Snape didn’ mention it, jus’ said yeh were going to be helpin’ me out this evenin’, and I didn’ care ter ask the murderin’ slime,” he finished in a near-growl, his expression dark.

“We tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor,” Ginny replied. “It didn’t work, though.”

“Yeh wha’?” cried Hagrid in shock. Ginny quickly described the way in which they’d attempted to steal the sword, which was a remarkably brief tale considering all the planning and worry that had gone into it. Once she had finished, Hagrid gazed down at them all in amazement.

“Tha’ was righ’ brave of yeh, that was… stealin’ the Sword of Gryffindor… blimey,” he said. “Yeh were lucky Snape didn’ punish yeh worse!”

“We were thinking the same thing,” agreed Neville. “But it would have been worth it to get the Sword of Gryffindor away from Snape… now, it might as well belong to You-Know-Who.”

Hagrid looked thoughtful. “Well, I dunno abou’ tha’,” he said, to the others’ surprise. “Ter be honest, I don’ think You-Know-Who could use a thing like tha’ sword. It’s a Gryffindor sword, remember? And he was in Slytherin. Mos’ likely he jus’ wants ter keep it safe so his enemies can’ get their hands on it. Like yeh three almos’ did,” he finished with a chuckle.

Ginny’s heart lifted at these words, and she felt as if an enormous burden – their failure to retrieve the Sword – had been lifted from her shoulders. “So you really don’t think You-Know-Who wants to use it as an extra weapon?” she asked.

“Nah,” replied Hagrid. “He’s powerful enough withou’ that, isn’t he?” And even this rather grim reminder of Voldemort’s power didn’t entirely dampen Ginny’s good spirits. Neville, too, looked more cheerful as he asked, “So, what work are we going to do, Hagrid?”

“Well, we’ve jus’ had some new unicorn foals born,” said Hagrid, “so I though’ we’d check on them firs’. This way – quietly, now.”

He led them to a large clearing in the trees where they were greeted with the stunning sight of a pure white mother unicorn lying on the ground, her three tiny golden foals nestled next to her. All four seemed to give off an ethereal glow. Hagrid approached and crouched next to the foals, making surprisingly little noise for someone of his size.

After a few seconds he beckoned them over, and Ginny and Luna approached, Neville hanging back: grown unicorns would only let girls come near them. Hagrid rose and drew back, allowing the girls to take his place. Ginny knelt next to one of the foals, which raised its head, blinking liquid black eyes. It slowly got to its feet, shaky on newborn legs, and then half-collapsed into her lap. A smile crept onto Ginny’s face as she gazed at the foal. Next to her, Luna was gently stroking the head of another foal, murmuring what sounded like a lullaby under her breath. The third foal was bold enough to wobble its way over to Neville, nudging his legs and licking his hand, searching for food. Hagrid chuckled and produced a sugar cube from one of the many pockets of his overcoat; he gave it to Neville, who held it out and let the foal lick it, a peaceful expression on his face that mirrored how Ginny was feeling.

The feeling of peace lasted all through the rest of their unusual detention, which involved feeding some unknown meat to the Thestrals (a task which Ginny left largely to Neville and Luna, who could actually see them) and hunting through the Forest for unicorn hair which had been caught on bushes and branches, and which Hagrid could use for binding wounds and treating injuries. As they trudged back up to the castle, tired but satisfied, the conversation turned to the absence of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“So none o’ yeh know where they went?” Hagrid asked, looking sidelong at them with a mixture of hopefulness and concern. Ginny, Neville and Luna shook their heads.

“Nothing specific,” Ginny replied quietly, glancing around to check for eavesdroppers. She didn’t mind now, telling them what she knew; she trusted Neville and Luna, and definitely thought that Hagrid deserved to know a little about where his favourite pupils had disappeared to. “They were planning something over the summer, or trying to – Merlin knows Mum did her best to stop them – but all I know is that it was to do with resisting… You-Know-Who.” She remembered her conversation with Harry at the Burrow in which he’d let slip a little too much about what they intended to do.

“What does she think’s going to happen? Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?”

“So it’s true? That’s what you’re trying to do?”

“I – not – I was joking…”

Even though she’d always suspected that killing Voldemort was the eventual aim, it wasn’t something she’d wanted to think about too much, and to hear Harry say it so bluntly… Just remembering the conversation made Ginny’s stomach drop with fear. To think of Harry and her brother and Hermione (who was like a sister to Ginny) facing off against him… and while she sat here at Hogwarts, doing homework and playing Quidditch and trying not to go out of her mind with worry…

“…Whatever it is, we can be sure it’s important,” she finished, and her voice shook very slightly. If the other three noticed it, they pretended not to.

“Aye, well o’ course I was a bit downcast not ter see ‘em at the Feast… Wondered if somethin’ mighter happened to ‘em, yeh know… with Hermione bein’ a Muggle-born, especially – but I heard from Miner- er, Professor McGonagall that Dumbledore left ‘em some sort o’ task. An’ if Dumbledore though’ it was what needed ter be done, and he thought they were up ter it, then I trust his judgement. Great man, Dumbledore.”

Ginny, Neville and Luna nodded thoughtfully. It was tempting, just to put their entire faith in Dumbledore and believe that he always knew what to do. But Ginny couldn’t forget that Dumbledore was dead, and over a mistake that he had made in trusting someone he shouldn’t have. Was it possible that he might have made more mistakes that would cost other people equally dearly?

She was still pondering these questions when she climbed into her four-poster bed at just gone midnight. There had been a note waiting for her on the pillow in Niamh’s handwriting.

Ginny,  
I heard from someone that you’d been given a detention but they didn’t know what for. I hope it wasn’t because of Muggle Studies today. I hope you’re all right. I was trying to stay up until you got back but I’m so rubbish at staying up late! Please wake me up as soon as you read this and tell me what happened.  
Niamh

Ginny smiled slightly and looked over at Niamh’s bed. There was a gap in the curtains and she could see that Niamh had gone to sleep fully clothed, obviously so that she could get straight back up again when Ginny came in. But Ginny decided to let her have her rest; there would be time in the morning for them to talk, after she’d come up with a suitable story for her detention that evening. Besides, the mention of Muggle Studies had reminded her of what they’d all gone through, earlier in the day. The experience had brought it home to them all that Hogwarts really wasn’t the same school they knew and loved any more… not with Snape and the Carrows in charge.

 

‘Muggle Studies’ had been her second lesson of the day, although the name was a complete lie as far as Ginny was concerned. Alecto Carrow had arrived at the lesson five minutes late; the class was already seated when she arrived, the nervous hush broken only by the occasional whisper. Nevertheless, Alecto barked, “Silence!” as she strode into the room. It descended in an instant.

“Muggles!” screeched Alecto. “Filthy, dirty animals, stupid and slow, who are fit only to act as servants for wizards. They were born to serve wizards. Hundreds of years ago, they did – but they got greedy. They got it into their tiny little brains that they were better than us. So they started to fight back. They’re not clever, but Muggles are vicious and cruel. Muggles are born vicious – they’re incapable of anything else! They forced wizards to hide, by being violent, and changed the natural order of things. They deserve to be punished, and put back in their rightful place.”

Throughout this tirade, Alecto Carrow’s face was twisted with loathing, and she spat the words as if they tasted bad in her mouth. The class sat stunned, and it occurred to no-one to take notes as they usually would – not even Kimberley, who had been known to take notes even in a practical lesson. Ginny thought that Alecto sounded more like she was describing Death Eaters than Muggles.

“What are you all sitting staring for?!” Alecto shrieked at them. “Quills! Parchment! Write this down!”

There was a frightened flurry of movement as students quickly grabbed the nearest writing materials and began taking notes; Niamh’s elbow knocked into Ginny as she dived for her bag. Ginny, however, sat motionless, staring at Alecto in defiance. This did not go unnoticed.

“You! Girl!” said Alecto, and Kimberley and Niamh both jumped before realising she was addressing Ginny. “Why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“I normally only write down things that are true,” replied Ginny, sounding – and feeling – strangely calm, even though she knew she was playing with fire by answering back.

Alecto’s face darkened in fury, and she drew her wand out from inside her robes. Niamh gasped, and Ginny’s hands clenched on the edge of the desk as she braced herself for a spell, or a curse – maybe even the Cruciatus curse. Instead, Alecto barked, “Up here! Now!”

For a second Ginny considered staying where she was, but there wasn’t much point in making her punishment worse. She got to her feet and walked slowly to the front. Alecto raised her wand and cried, “Imperio!”

Ginny found herself floating in blissful oblivion: free from pain, free from worry, free from everything. I’ve never been imperiused before… this is nice… she thought vaguely. Then she became aware of a voice.

Get down on the floor… prostrate yourself… as low as you can go… it told her.

Right-o, thought Ginny, and felt herself move to obey.

Now apologise…

“I’m very sorry, Professor Carrow. I will be more obedient in future,” Ginny heard herself say. She was still floating blissfully, her mind blank.

“Very well,” replied Alecto, and Ginny came to and found her nose pressed against the classroom floor, practically kissing the Death Eater’s feet. Revulsion rose inside her, quickly joined by anger and humiliation. “Watch your step, girl, or next time it’ll be the Cruciatus curse,” said Alecto, but Ginny hardly heard her. She got up, feeling sick, and found she was shaking as she walked back to her desk. Niamh turned wide, horrified eyes towards her, but Ginny didn’t look at her as she pulled parchment and quill from her bag and began scribbling a very abridged version of what Alecto had been saying.

Muggles – filthy, dirty, stupid  
Vicious nature  
Drove wizards into hiding  
Deserve to be punished

All that kept her from cracking and ripping the parchment into shreds, or balling it up and hurling it at Alecto’s ugly figure, was the thought of their plan to steal the Sword of Gryffindor right from under the nose of Voldemort’s right-hand man. Even though the plan had only a slim chance of working, it kept Ginny going.

 

The memory was enough to make Ginny’s blood boil anew as she lay in her dormitory, surrounded by the quiet, regular breathing of her fellow Gryffindors. She had burned that parchment as soon as she had the chance. She would take the Cruciatus curse next time, rather than write down those utter lies as fact… as her classmates had been doing. Why hadn’t any of them stood up to Carrow? They were all in Gryffindor, they were all supposed to be brave… but then, they’d all seen that the Carrows wouldn’t hesitate to use an Unforgivable curse on a student. Maybe they thought they were in danger of Avada Kedavra?

Bad as the Muggle Studies lesson had been, Ginny’s first Dark Arts lesson had been even worse. Pig-faced Amycus Carrow was as ugly as his sister and at least as mean, probably meaner. To make matters worse, someone had decided to have the Gryffindors and the Slytherins taking lessons together, which meant sharing a classroom with the likes of Thomas Miller and Henry Trotter. Ginny couldn’t stand to see the look of glee on Miller’s face as he drank in every word that Amycus was saying.

 

“The Dark Arts,” Amycus spat at the class, “are the strongest sort of magic there is. Ain’t nothing better than Dark magic. You can kill, torture, and force people to do what you want. You can make ‘em wish they was never born.” An evil smile lit up his face; Ginny felt sick. “For a curse to work, you got to really hate. No place for pansies in the Dark Arts. It’s a shame we can’ get a Muggle in here to practice on, but with all these stupid spells on the castle…” He made a face that showed exactly what he thought of Hogwarts security. “So instead we got some other sorts of animals for you to use.” He hefted a large cage onto the desk which had belonged to so many different teachers; it was full of mice of various different sizes and colours, though all of them were squeaking and scurrying about in terror, as if they knew what was about to happen to them.

“Right!” Amycus opened the cage, reached in and seized a mouse. “Here!” He suddenly threw the mouse to Lukas Hill, a Gryffindor boy, who dived sideways in his seat to catch it. The rest of the mice were distributed this way, and not all of the students managed to catch them; after their initial fall, however, the mice scurried around on the floor unharmed, and Ginny thought they were better off than their fellows. Hers was a particularly energetic brown mouse who kept scampering towards the edges of the desk and had to be hemmed in with a cupped hand. Next to her, Niamh’s albino mouse didn’t move, but sat quivering on her desk, staring up at her with frightened pink eyes.

“Now control the little blighters,” Amycus was saying, “with the Imperius curse.” Ginny was slightly relieved that it wasn’t the Cruciatus curse they were practicing, although with someone like Miller in control, the Imperius curse might be almost as bad. The Slytherins all uttered, “Imperio!” immediately, with varying degrees of success: Trotter’s mouse continued to run across his desk, apparently unaffected by the grunt which issued from his mouth, and Miller’s, Ginny saw with satisfaction, appeared to have been paralysed.

“What’re you all waiting for? GET A MOVE ON!” shouted Amycus at the Gryffindors. Apparently unable to resist the chance to perfect a new spell, Kimberley murmured, “Imperio,” and her mouse walked calmly to the centre of her desk and curled up asleep. Even seeing it perform a relatively mundane action against its own will was unsettling. Jack Sloper looked down at his mouse, grey with a white band around its middle, and intoned, “Imperio.” The mouse suddenly took a running leap from the edge of the desk, landed neatly on the floor and shot towards the door. Sloper watched it with satisfaction – until Amycus bore down on him.

“That’ll be detention for you,” he said, “for losing your mouse.” The look of unpleasant vindictiveness on Amycus’ face let them know that the punishment wasn’t going to be just lines.

“What?” cried Colin Creevey in outrage. “That’s completely-”

Fortunately, Thomas Miller chose that moment to cry, “Look at this, Professor! Look what I’m making it do!” Amycus turned away, and Ginny thought that Colin would actually do well to keep quiet, no matter what was going on. She hated to think what might happen if the Carrows found out he was Muggle-born.

Ginny looked over at Miller’s desk as well, and her stomach turned over: Miller had successfully Imperiused his mouse, and was making it chew through its own tail. Amycus Carrow smirked.

“Congratulations, boy. Five points to Slytherin,” he said. Miller grinned, but didn’t lift the spell on the mouse, which was now shaking violently as it was forced to inflict pain on itself.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” shrieked Niamh, her eyes wide and her face white. Care of Magical Creatures might not have been her favourite subject, but she had a soft spot for mice: they were Helen’s favourite animal, and she kept a whole cage of them at home. Miller looked round at her and smiled smugly, evidently pleased by the distress he was causing her.

Suddenly, Miller yelled in shock as the chair beneath him was reduced to dust. He hit the floor hard, banging his arm on the desk as he went down. The curse on the mouse was lifted, and it darted off the desk, trailing blood behind it.

Ginny didn’t need to see the wand pointed at Miller to know who had cast the spell; Colin was the only other person in the class who had been a member of Dumbledore’s Army, and who had been taught the Reductor Curse by Harry. Amycus Carrow wasn’t to know this, but he’d noticed the movement as Colin hastily stowed his wand out of sight, and advanced on his desk.

“Detention for you too,” he pronounced, shoving his pig-like face up close to Colin’s. “You’ll think twice about acting friendly to little animals after I’m through with you.”

Colin gulped, but said with convincing innocence, “What am I being punished for? I didn’t do anything.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” said Carrow. “What’s your blood status?” he demanded abruptly.

“H-half blood,” Colin replied.

“Yeah right,” interjected Miller, climbing to his feet. “You’re a Mudblood. There’s no hiding filthy blood like yours.”

Ginny gritted her teeth, but willed herself not to react and give the game away. If Colin had really been a half-blood, then there would be no reason to be insulted.

“Don’t lie, Miller,” said Sloper scornfully. “Just because you fell off your chair…”

“I didn’t fall off it, it bloody disappeared!” shouted Miller.

“Shut up!” bellowed Amycus. “The lot of you!” The class fell silent, Miller and Sloper throwing each other mutinous glares. “You,” Carrow said, pointing at Colin. “We’ll find out how dirty your blood is later.” Colin paled visibly. “Monday, nine o’clock, here. The pointing finger was transferred to Sloper. “Same goes for you.”

 

From what Amycus had said, Ginny couldn’t help but feel that she’d got off lightly with her punishment in Muggle Studies. For the rest of the day, Colin and Sloper had been quiet and ashen-faced, no doubt imagining horrible possible punishments. They had the whole of the weekend to dwell on them – Ginny wasn’t sure why their detention had been set for a Monday, but it didn’t bode well.

 

Owing to the first of September falling on a Wednesday, Ginny only had to endure two full days of lessons before the weekend, and only one of those had contained lessons taught by the Carrows, for which she was immeasurably thankful. None of her friends had been so lucky, and late on Saturday morning, they gathered in the common room to share outrage over the Carrows’ ‘teaching’ methods.

“When Alecto Carrow was spewing that bullshit about Muggles in ‘Muggle Studies’,” said Seamus furiously, crooking his fingers as he said the words ‘Muggle Studies’, “I was this close to hexing her.” He held up his finger and thumb, each a hair’s width apart from the other. “I’m half-blood, and my dad is nothing like any of the crap that she said.”

“Well, it’s just lies, isn’t it?” said Ginny, fists clenched on the arms of her favourite armchair. “They don’t care whether it’s true or not, it’s not like they’re in any danger of being sacked. Hermione’s parents are great people, but as far as the Death Eaters are concerned, they’re just Muggles – they don’t even qualify as people.” She had met the Grangers on one or two occasions, and always got on very well with them.

“And then there’s the Dark Arts,” Neville added, “– teaching the Imperius curse to people like Crabbe and Goyle! They love it, of course… took a while for them to get the hang of it, but once they did…” He trailed off, his expression dark, then continued, “Malfoy was the real surprise, though-”

“Malfoy?” said Ginny sharply. “He’s here, then? He came back to Hogwarts?”

“Yup.” Neville nodded.

“But I thought he was a Death Eater now?”

“He is,” said Neville, “but I don’t think he’s in You-Know-Who’s good books at the moment. Neither’s his dad: remember, he was supposed to get that prophecy thing off us in the Department of Mysteries, but he didn’t manage it?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ginny, remembering. Seamus looked interested: he hadn’t been in the Department of Mysteries with the others two summers ago, and none of his friends had spoken much about what had gone on there, though he had heard plenty of rumours.

“Anyway, I’m not surprised you didn’t notice he was back – Malfoy’s not throwing his weight around like he used to,” said Neville with a grim smile. “He’s loads more subdued. I don’t think he’s a Prefect any more, although they had to make him Slytherin Quidditch captain because there’s no one else-”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Ginny, sitting up. “Who’s Head Boy and Head Girl this year?”

“They’re both Slytherins,” said Seamus, “of course, because Snape picked them. I think Theodore Nott got Head Boy, and Pansy Parkinson’s Head Girl.”

Ginny shuddered: she detested the pug-faced Slytherin girl at the best of times, and being Head Girl was sure to make her even more unbearable.

Neville glanced around the crowded Common Room, which was full of students holding similar conversations to theirs, and then said in a low voice,

“So what about the DA, then? The sooner we get it going, the better, I think.”

Ginny and Seamus nodded their agreement. “Luna’s been doing the Ravenclaws,” said Ginny, “asking the people who were in it last year. Susan Bones is all for it; so are Terry Boot and Michael Corner.”

“Hannah’s come back to school; I saw her in Herbology,” said Neville. “But it was kind of hard to talk to her, since we were pruning some pretty violent plants and they kept attacking us. I asked Ernie before Charms, though, and he’s up for it.”

“That gives us eight members including us, then,” said Seamus, keeping count on his fingers. “We could still ask Lavender and Parvati, they were in it last year too.”

They looked around and saw the two best friends, deep in sombre conversation in a corner. With Hermione absent, they were the only occupants of their dormitory. Ginny managed to catch Lavender’s eye, and furtively beckoned them over.

“Hi guys,” said Parvati, sitting down. “What’s up?” Lavender nodded and smiled at them, though she looked rather wary of Ginny; Ginny remembered her and Ron’s brief and rather ill-fated relationship from the previous year, and almost smirked. But she bore no ill feelings towards Lavender about it (in fact, she felt rather sorry for her) and so gave her a warm smile.

They outlined for the two girls the plan to restart Dumbledore’s army. Both were keen on the idea, and the group spent another five minutes abusing Snape and the Carrows.

“We’ll need a new meeting-place, as well,” said Seamus, “since the Slytherins know we used the Room of Requirement last year.”

Neville frowned thoughtfully. “Couldn’t we just change the Room’s specifications so it’s invisible to the Carrows, or they can’t get in, or something? It really is the ideal meeting-place.”

“It still seems a bit risky,” Seamus countered. “The only way we’d know whether it worked or not is if the Carrows came looking for us, and if it didn’t…” He pulled a face.

“Maybe we could meet in the Three Broomsticks?” suggested Lavender Brown. “I mean, not to practice spells, but just to discuss ideas with everyone who’s from different houses. It’d be a start, at least…”

Ginny was shaking her head. “Hold anti-You-Know-Who meetings in public, under the nose of goodness knows how many possible informers? It might have worked when the DA first formed, but back then we were just a renegade school group. We weren’t even breaking any rules and no-one besides Umbridge and her Ministry lackeys would have cared. Now, though… we don’t know who we can trust.”

A sombre silence fell as they all contemplated the grim reality of their situation. As bad as things had been with Umbridge around, they had never been this bad, and they had never affected the outside world as well. Ginny thought again of Colin and Jack’s detention, and her own punishment in Muggle Studies at the hands of Alecto.

Neville spoke up again. “I think we should risk the Room,” he said. “No matter where we meet, we run the risk of punishment if we get found out. There’s nowhere else suitable that we can meet to practice spells, and we can’t afford to waste any more time trying to find a place, because the Carrows sure as hell aren’t wasting any.” They all nodded at that.

Seamus’ stomach rumbled, reminding them that it was getting close to lunchtime. “All right, all right. Let’s make it this evening, in the Room of Requirement. We can use the coins to let the others know, and hope they can manage to sneak out in time.”

With that decided, they went down to the Great Hall, trying not to look like a group of students who had just been plotting how to undermine the new regime.


	5. Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Updates for everyone~

‘SAME PLACE 8•00’ was the message that Ginny transmitted to the others via the fake Galleons Hermione had given them all two years ago. Hopefully they would all know what it meant; there wasn’t room for putting a lengthy message on the edge of a Galleon, and Ginny didn’t want to risk being any more explicit in case the Galleons fell into the wrong hands. The fact that the writing around the edge of the coin formed a coherent message rather than being just a string of numbers would be suspicious enough in itself.

At a quarter to eight, she, Neville and Luna made their way up to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor and found the stretch of blank wall that they needed to walk past three times, concentrating hard on what they needed, in order to make the Room appear. Ginny found herself wondering what the Room looked like when it wasn’t in use; did it even exist? Since no one could get into it, there was no way of finding out.

“Let’s go,” she murmured to the others, and they began their first walk past the stretch of wall.

 _We need somewhere to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts,_ she thought, making her thoughts as loud and clear as possible, _somewhere to learn to fight – like we had before._ She remembered what Neville had said earlier. _Somewhere that Snape and the Carrows can’t find us._

Behind her, Neville’s fists were clenched and his brow furrowed as he concentrated.

 _We need a hiding-place where we can learn defence… a place that Snape and the Carrows can’t get into…_ He thought back to the form that the Room had taken two years ago. _With space to practice spells, and equipment to help us learn…_ An idea suddenly came to him, though he wasn’t sure how it would be interpreted by the Room. _And a way that we can see the rest of the castle, without being seen ourselves._

Luna trailed several feet behind the other two, her facial expression as blank and dreamy as ever. She lacked the sense of purpose, the focused determination that Neville and Ginny had, and looked for all the world as if she’d just decided to wander along the corridor and back on a whim.

 _Please could we have somewhere to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts? And please could you make it a nice place, light and happy and safe… Some books would be nice, too, and cushions… and a piece of parchment with a jinx on it just like the one that Hermione made us before. She really is clever…_ All at once her face became serious. _But there mustn’t be any Wrackspurts or Heliopaths or other horrible things. Especially not Hooverdingers._

Ginny wheeled around after the third repetition, and jumped as she saw that a door had appeared in the wall. It was white, with an ornately carved silver handle, and what looked like silver glitter sprinkled across it. Ginny glanced back at Luna as she pushed it open, and felt a slight foreboding: what extras had she added to the room?

But the room was perfectly pleasant on the inside, and contained no strange objects or plants or bizarre animals (if Luna’s ‘exotic creatures’ could exist anywhere, it would be in the Room of Requirement). Though Neville and Ginny didn’t know it, the Room bore a strong resemblance to the Ravenclaw common room: airy and spacious, with a large window through which daylight was streaming: a bizarre anomaly considering it was nearly eight o’clock in the evening.

Neville appeared at Ginny’s shoulder. “Why is it different?” he asked, sounding slightly indignant.

“We must have asked for different things to H- er, different things to last time,” Ginny amended, as her throat threatened to close up at the mention of Harry’s name. She led the way into the room, skirting round the cushions that dotted the floor. “There’s fewer books than before; I bet those were Hermione’s doing,” she observed with a slight smile.

Neville made his way over to the window and peered out. “I can see the grounds… and the Quidditch pitch… but it’s daylight,” he said, puzzled.

“That must have been the light I asked for,” said Luna dreamily, wandering around the room. Neville’s eyes widened in comprehension.

“Can we be seen through that window?” asked Ginny sharply, but Neville was already shaking his head.

“I asked for a way to see and not be seen… this must have been what the Room came up with.”

 _I need to see what the Carrows are doing,_ he thought on an impulse, and started as the view through the window instantly changed. Now it was showing what looked like the fourth floor of the castle; Amycus Carrow prowled along its length, glaring at students, who scuttled past in fright. The view changed; now he was looking at the floor below, which Alecto Carrow was patrolling with her wand at the ready.

“Wow!” said Ginny, who was also watching. “That’ll be really useful. Nice one, Neville!”

There was a knock at the door, and Seamus, Lavender and the Patil twins entered. “Hey, it looks different!” Seamus remarked immediately. “I like it, though.”

“There’s still some things that are the same, like those – what did Harry call them?” asked Lavender, pointing to the same table of Dark Detectors that had occupied the last DA meeting-place.

“Dark detectors,” Neville replied. “Those ones at the front are Sneakoscopes, but I don’t know what the mirror thing does…”

“Hey, look at this!” Parvati called from the other end of the room. She sounded alarmed. The others turned to see her pointing to a piece of parchment pinned to the wall; closer inspection revealed that it was headed with the words ‘DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY’ – in Hermione’s writing. It was just like the jinxed list of members that they had all signed two years ago, but there were no names on it.

Ginny stared at it in shock. “How did that get in here?”

“I’d say it was the exact same parchment, but none of our names are on it,” said Padma.

“Oh, yes, I asked for that,” said Luna vaguely from the back of the group. “A jinxed piece of parchment like last time…”

“Weird that it looks exactly the same, though,” said Seamus as Lavender reached up and took the parchment from the wall. “So, are we all going to sign it?”

Ginny found a quill and Neville a bottle of ink, and the parchment was passed around. Lavender gave a nervous giggle as she signed her name. “I feel weird knowing that it’s got a jinx on it. But I won’t ever tell, so I’m sure I’ll be all right.” She didn’t sound as if she’d entirely convinced herself.

Just then, the door opened and Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Susan Bones, Colin, Dennis and Laura Creevey walked in.

“Sorry we’re late!” said Ernie in his usual pompous manner. “Ran into a spot of trouble with the Carrows, wanting to know where we were all off to together. Awfully unpleasant, aren’t they?”

“‘Unpleasant’ doesn’t even begin to describe it,” said Ginny. “But you need to be careful, coming up here in a big group. Do you think they suspected something?”

“Oh, I daresay they’re keeping an eye on us anyway,” Ernie replied. “From what I hear, we’ve all been earning reputations for ourselves in their lessons. So, are we getting started? Ah, and we must sign the member list again, of course…”

“Yeah, let’s get started,” agreed Neville, and the others (once they had all signed the parchment) seated themselves on cushions, leaving Ginny, Neville and Luna standing at the front.

“Well, er…” Neville was clearly unaccustomed to taking charge, and Ginny thought fleetingly and fondly of how uncomfortable Harry had been to begin with, though he had soon settled into his role of leader, and proven to be a natural teacher. “We should probably revise some of the things we did last year, to check we haven’t forgotten them. Any… ideas about which we should do first?”

“That’s a good idea,” said Luna. “I think we should do Stunning, that one’s very useful…”

“And after that, the Impediment Jinx,” added Ginny. There was a murmur of assent, and the group divided into pairs to practice Stunning, positioning the cushions on the floor to try and soften the fall. After everyone seemed to have got the hang of it (or else were too sore to continue), they moved onto practicing the Impediment Jinx.

Nine o’clock came around quickly, and Neville brought an end to the spell-practicing. “I wish we could go on longer,” he said grimly, “but we don’t need to give the Carrows more excuses to punish us.” Colin Creevey nodded emphatically, pale-faced at this reminder of his impending punishment. “And, er… before we go, I think there’s something that ought to be said.” Everyone immediately focused their attention on Neville.

“Last time we did the DA, it was about learning how to defend ourselves from… from You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters,” Neville began. “This time, You-Know-Who is in control of the Ministry and three of his Death Eaters are in our school. So… what I’m saying is that I think we ought to make an agreement to stand up to them, no matter what, because otherwise there’s no point us doing this.”

Several people were nodding in agreement, which encouraged Neville. “It’s not just about the stuff we do in these meetings,” he continued. “It’s not just about learning spells, it’s about being loyal to Dumbledore, even if… he’s not here in person,” he finished slightly awkwardly.

“Hear, hear!” said Ernie Macmillan.

“We’d better get going,” Ginny reminded them. “We’ll use the coins to let you know when the next meeting is.”

Before anyone left the room, Neville consulted the enchanted window to check the whereabouts of Snape, Filch and the Carrows, to avoid running into them on the way back.

“Wow, you really know how to use that Room, Neville,” said Seamus as the Gryffindors walked back to the Common Room together.

“Well, it is an amazing Room,” Neville replied modestly. “It gives you anything you ask for.”

“Even a lifetime’s supply of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?” asked Laura Creevey excitedly.

“Well... maybe not that.”

 

Having DA meetings again gave Ginny renewed confidence over the next few days. She could look up at the greasy-haired figure of Snape with his cold, dead eyes, sitting at the High Table, and think, _You haven’t won. Dumbledore’s Army is still fighting._

She needed that confidence – or rather, that defiance – for her second Dark Arts lesson: they had moved on from the Imperius curse to the Cruciatus curse, and there was no way of getting around it by making the mice do something harmless like falling asleep. Niamh hid her face and whimpered as Miller held his wand aloft and the mouse rocked and twitched, squealing non-stop.

“You!” Amycus Carrow pointed at Ginny. “Carrot-head! Do something or we’ll use you for practicing next!”

Ginny stood up. “Do it, then,” she said, with the same detached calm that she had felt as she defied Alecto Carrow in Muggle Studies. “I’d rather that than cause pain to an innocent animal for no reason.”

Amycus’ face contorted into a snarl, and his wand slashed diagonally through the air. The spell felt like a hot, blunt knife across Ginny’s chest; she staggered backwards and nearly tripped over her chair, but fell into it instead. There were cries of shock and outrage from the Gryffindors; Niamh quickly steadied Ginny’s chair before it could fall over.

Ginny gripped the edge of the desk and began to get to her feet, but before she could Amycus slashed his wand again, and she crumpled, doubling over and trying to protect her burning midriff. She was dimly aware of people shouting, hurling abuse at Amycus, and him shouting back – then a quiet voice in her ear said, “Ginny, can you stand?”

Ginny turned her head, expecting Niamh – but it was Kimberley. Ginny stared in shock at the tall girl with the aquiline nose crouching next to her, her straight brown hair swishing against her cheek. “Can you stand?” Kimberley repeated. “You need the hospital wing.”

Ginny shook her head. “I’m fine,” she insisted, beginning to unfold herself – and then doubling up again as her muscles spasmed and protested. The shouting around them ceased abruptly as Amycus cast a Silencing charm on the class.

“Shut up!” he shouted, even though there was no need. “All you _Gryffindors,_ ” he spat the word as if it were a swearword, “in this room will do detention tomorrow at twelve. Got that?”

“A mass detention?” Ginny heard Lukas mutter to Sloper as Kimberley helped her out of the room. “What’s he going to do, make us all write lines together?”

Ginny had a feeling it was something much more sinister than that, but it wasn’t until later that she found out what.

 

In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey prescribed her a lotion made from Essence of Murtlap, something that Fred and George had found very useful in creating their Skiving Snackboxes the year before last. She also refused to let Ginny go to her next lesson, Transfiguration, instead forcing her to lie down on a bed and rest.

“Murtlap lotion might do the trick in taking the pain away,” she said briskly as she fluffed the pillows, “but you’ll feel ten times worse later if you don’t rest now. Lie down.”

Ginny did as she was told and stared up at the ceiling, listening to Madam Pomfrey bustle around and mutter under her breath about what she thought of teachers using corporal punishment. She spent the time thinking about what they might do at the next DA meeting; even so, it passed very slowly, and she was relieved when Madam Pomfrey allowed her to go, giving her a jar of lotion to take with her and strict instructions to apply it every three hours.

Ginny had a free period scheduled for after Transfiguration, so she made her way back to the Common Room wondering whether she should practice non-verbal charms or make a start on her Herbology essay – but as soon as she climbed through the portrait hole, she forgot about homework.

“Colin!” Ginny hurried over to the figure sitting slumped in one of the armchairs. Colin was white in the face and shaking. “Colin, are you okay?”

“I, um, I,” Colin stammered without looking at her. “The Cruciatus curse,” he blurted suddenly.

“What?” Ginny wondered if Colin was reliving their Dark Arts lesson.

“The Cruciatus curse,” repeated Colin. “Detention. Some… some…” He trailed off.

Ginny gasped. Of course – Colin and Jack had been doing their detention with Amycus Carrow earlier that morning! “Did he use the Cruciatus curse on you?” she asked urgently, and was surprised when Colin weakly shook his head.

“Not him – some sixth formers,” he managed, and Ginny’s fists clenched, her mind flying immediately to Miller and his cronies. “It wasn’t their fault!” he added quickly, and Ginny frowned in confusion. “He made them do it…”

A sick feeling rose in Ginny’s throat as she understood the nature of the punishment – the _double_ punishment, inflicted both on those who had earned detentions and anyone who was unwilling to use an Unforgivable Curse. “Who was it, Colin?” she asked.

“Some Ravenclaws…” he replied, and the faces of Ravenclaws Ginny knew flashed across her mind’s eye. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Susan Bones… _Luna_ … could one of them have given in under pressure and tortured a friend? She was sure Luna was made of stronger stuff than that, but the others… could she blame them if they had done it? Would she be able to look them in the eye at the next DA meeting and talk about doing their bit for the resistance?

 

Her second Muggle Studies lesson was much like the first, except that they were set homework at the end of it: to write an essay about how Muggles had oppressed wizards over the last few centuries, and how the natural order was being re-established, with Muggles at the bottom and wizards at the top.

“It’s like a twisted History of Magic essay,” Ginny commented darkly to Neville in the Common Room that evening. “She just wants us to regurgitate all that stuff she says in our lessons, but written down on parchment, so she can-”

Before she could complete her sentence, Ginny was interrupted as someone half-fell through the portrait hole, staggered a few steps across the Common Room, and then threw up on the floor. There were cries of shock and revulsion, as people jumped backwards, shouting, “Yuck!” and “Go to the hospital wing!”

“No-” The boy wiped his mouth, and Ginny recognised him as being a second-year who had tried out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team last year even though he’d blatantly never flown in his life. “Help,” he managed to say, before he put his hands on his knees and was sick again.

Ginny cast about for her box of _Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes_ merchandise, thinking that the purple end of a Puking Pastille might cure the vomiting, but Neville was quicker on the uptake: jumping to his feet, he pointed his wand at the boy. _“Finite incantatem!”_

The vomiting stopped; the boy stayed where he was, dry-heaved once more, then slowly straightened up and staggered over to an armchair. “Thanks,” he gasped, collapsing into it.

“What happened, Elliot?” asked another second-year boy, as Neville murmured, _“Evanesco,”_ and cleared up the mess.

Elliot waited a few minutes to catch his breath before answering. “I dunno… I just… I took a shortcut back to the Common Room… you know, through that passage behind the tapestry? As soon as I stepped into it, I felt… funny… then I started being sick… But it was quicker to come here than go to the hospital wing.”

“Do you think someone jinxed you as you stepped into it?” asked a third-year girl tremulously.

“No, it sounds more like there was a curse over the passageway,” said a fifth-year boy.

Neville and Ginny exchanged a glance, alarmed and at the same time, unsurprised; it sounded exactly like the sort of thing the Carrows would do. Though it wasn’t a great surprise that Hogwarts’ secret passageways had been rendered inaccessible to students, it certainly wasn’t a good thing. It cut down on a lot of their options for moving around the school without detection, and they wouldn’t even be able to take shortcuts to lessons for fear of what might happen if they did.

 

It was an ashen-faced group of Gryffindors who waited outside the dungeons at noon the next day to face their detention. As much as Ginny knew that the punishment was unjust to the point of being laughable, it didn’t do anything to change the reality of their situation.

She wasn’t sure whether it made it better or worse knowing what the detention would probably consist of. From the moment she woke up, Ginny had been desperately trying to think of any spells she knew which might be able to mitigate the pain of the Cruciatus Curse or help them to endure it. But she knew there was nothing; if there had been, would so many fully-grown and experienced witches and wizards have succumbed to its torture? Would Neville’s parents have been driven to insanity by the pain if there had been a way around the curse? She knew that Harry had been able to throw off the Imperius Curse when Voldemort had cast it on him in his fourth year, in the graveyard where Cedric Diggory had been murdered; but even he had said there was nothing you could do with the Cruciatus Curse except endure it the best you could.

Her stomach began to ache at the thought of Harry, and even though Ginny did her best to distract herself from that train of thought, it didn’t abate all morning and was still hurting as they queued outside the dungeon. Niamh, at her side, was pale and trembling.

“I’m not even supposed to be here!” she whispered. “I’m meant to be in Charms…”

“I know,” Ginny replied. “None of us are meant to be here.” Of course, pulling them all out of lessons to do a mass detention was nothing to Amycus Carrow, and Ginny was far too realistic to entertain the notion that the other teachers might somehow be able to prevent this.

She looked around at the other Gryffindors. It was a tiny bit comforting to have them all there, much better than doing detention on her own would have been. Though really, she deserved to be the only one doing detention, since it was her fault they had all been punished… she rubbed her stomach as the ache intensified through guilt. Her eyes travelled along the line until she found Colin Creevey and Jack Sloper. Colin was white as a sheet, far paler than even Niamh, but looked determined, his jaw set and his arms folded. Behind him, Jack was leaning against the wall, his whole body rigid with tension. He stared into space, his fists clenched at his sides. Ginny could only imagine what was going through both boys’ heads as they prepared themselves to relive the most painful experience of their lives so far. On the other side of Jack, Kimberley was standing poised, looking completely calm, but as Ginny met her eyes she saw the fear in them.

Ginny wondered how many times they would all have to go through this before the year was over. She didn’t suppose it would get any easier or less painful.

Just as Niamh burst out in agitation, “It’s five past twelve! What’s-” the dungeon door creaked slowly open. Niamh slapped her hands over her mouth, looking petrified.

Ginny looked around at the others. She could only assume they were supposed to enter the dungeon. She felt a surge of irritation at all these dramatics, which were clearly designed to frighten them even more. Unfortunately, by the expressions on most people’s faces, it seemed to be working.

Seeing that no-one else was willing to go first, Ginny led the way into the dungeon – and stopped short as she saw who was inside.

 _“Neville...”_ she whispered. Her friend looked grimly back at her, sitting behind a desk. Ginny scanned the room; the rest of the seventh-year Gryffindors were there, and the Slytherins too. She saw Vincent Crabbe, who was wearing a sadistic expression of enjoyment as the terrified sixth-years filed in, and Gregory Goyle, who was smirking. The sight made Ginny want to hex one of them, and she forced herself to look away. Her eyes found Seamus’, and he nodded once at her, gripping his wand with white knuckles. There too were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who stared back at her helplessly. She tried not to notice the empty tables where Ron, Harry and Hermione would have sat; tried to think how much better it would have been if they had been here.

_They’re just not, and we’re going to have to do the best we can by ourselves._

Amycus Carrow looked over at the assembled sixth-years with scorn and derision. “YOU! CLOSE THE DOOR!” he shouted, and Jimmy Peakes scrambled to shut it behind him.

“Right.” Amycus Carrow leered around at the assembled students. “You’ll be practicin’ the Cruciatus Curse on these subjects, an’ anyone who thinks they can _object-”_ here he glared hard at Neville, “will be shown the true meanin’ of punishment.”

And from his belt he drew a long, sharp knife.

Ginny’s stomach turned to ice, and she felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath her feet. Beside her, she heard Niamh whimper, “No!” and then a weight sagged against her side; Ginny turned in time to catch Niamh before she crumpled to the floor. Jack Sloper ran forward to help, and together they lowered Niamh to the ground. Her face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and she was breathing shallowly.

“You! Weakling! GET TO THE FRONT!”

Even as she heard the shout and knew who Amycus was referring to, Ginny ignored it. “Niamh, can you hear me?” she asked softly. Around them, the Gryffindors closed ranks protectively, shielding the two girls from view.

Niamh’s eyes fluttered open again. “Ginny…” she whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“What for?” Ginny asked, shaking her head.

Niamh didn’t reply, instead trying to push herself upright, bracing herself on shaking arms.

“Lie back down!” Ginny hissed.

“I SAID NOW!” Amycus Carrow had sheathed the knife and drawn his wand instead, pointing it at the small group of Gryffindors. “Or I’ll Cruciate the lot of ya!!”

“You leave her alone!” ordered a strong voice. Neville had got to his feet and was staring Amycus Carrow down with a steely gaze that would have struck fear into a Basilisk. “This is a school! You can’t threaten people with knives and punish them Unforgivable Curses! And you can’t just victimise people when you feel like it!”

For a split second, Ginny’s heart skipped a beat as she looked at Neville standing defiantly in the middle of the classroom and saw another man instead, tall and skinny and messy-haired, his bright green eyes burning with conviction behind his glasses as he risked everything because he knew that what he was doing was _right._

But Neville wasn’t Harry, and Ginny shook her head to clear it of the weird vision. Neville was his own man, and one whom she could barely link to the meek, round-faced boy she’d known in her early years, who had so awkwardly asked her to the Yule Ball, and danced with two left feet. Even when she compared him to the Neville she’d fought alongside in the Department of Mysteries, whom she’d practiced defensive spells with in the DA, and desperately defended Hogwarts with at the end of last year, he had come a long way. There was a very different air about him now; without meaning to, when people needed him, he had stepped into the role of leader. Just like Harry.

And just like Harry, Neville’s unwavering sense of justice had placed him right in the path of danger at the hands of those who cared nothing for valour and integrity. Amycus Carrow didn’t hesistate; he swung his wand to point it at Neville and shouted, “CRUCIO!”

Neville dropped to the floor with a yell of agony; trapped between the legs of two desks, he barely had room to writhe in pain, screaming and juddering all the while. At once, half the Gryffindors in the room drew their wands, including Ginny, though she could barely get a shot at Amycus through the knot of classmates still surrounding her and Niamh. She saw Seamus shooting a stunning spell at Amycus, which he dodged; Crabbe aimed a hex at Seamus, which met a shield charm cast by Lavender; his wand then went spinning out of his hand thanks to Parvati’s disarming spell; in the next moment, she threw herself to the floor in order to avoid a stunning spell from Goyle. She suddenly spotted Draco Malfoy, sitting at the edge of the room, looking limp and pale. No wonder she hadn’t noticed him before. He was staring vaguely into space and appeared not to notice the chaos going on around him. Ginny could barely get her head around the complete change in his demeanour. Being a Death Eater obviously didn’t agree with Malfoy after all.

Spells were still flying left and right. Parvati was firing counter-jinxes and protective spells from the cover of her desk, whilst Goyle lay rigid on the floor, the recipient of a full Body-Bind curse. Crabbe, incensed, had taken to firing hexes at everyone around him with increased ferocity and little discrimination. His chair abruptly disappeared from beneath him thanks to a well-aimed Reductor curse: Lavender’s speciality. However, in the next second she was hit squarely in the back by a Stunning spell from Pansy Parkinson and slumped unconscious over her desk. Amycus had given up on torturing on Neville in order to fire the Cruciatus Curse at all and sundry in an attempt to regain control of the classroom. Colin and Jack were doing their best to Disarm Amycus, but kept having to duck out of the way of his curses. As Colin dived aside, Ginny suddenly found herself with a clear view, when-

“CRUCIO!”

Amycus had seen Ginny drawing her wand and fired an Unforgivable Curse in her direction, but Ginny found herself violently shoved aside; she sat up and saw Niamh writhing on the ground, screaming in agony as she took the Cruciatus Curse that had been meant for Ginny. “NO!” Ginny shouted and took aim at Amycus, when all at once, he went rigid as a board and keeled slowly over backwards – had she done magic without realising it? Or had someone else cast the jinx? She hadn’t heard anyone else cast the spell-

_“What in the **name** of wizardry is going on here?!” _

Professor McGonagall’s commanding voice rang around the dungeon and everyone, even the Slytherins, stopped what they were doing and turned guiltily in her direction. Someone’s wand, which they had recently been Disarmed of, clattered to the floor. The last of Niamh’s screams and shouted incantations, still echoed quietly in the air. Niamh herself lay flat on her back, breathing heavily. Lavender Brown, who had just been Enervated back into consciousness by Parvati, blinked and rubbed her eyes; Neville, still pale from his bout of torturing, slid back into his seat. No-one spoke.

McGonagall looked around at the Slytherins and Gryffindors with a furious expression, though Ginny suspected her fury was not directed at all of them.

“I leave an unusually poorly-attended Transfiguration class, from which the entirety of sixth-form Gryffindor house was mysteriously missing, to go in search of the absent students only to find them in the deepest level of the dungeons in a seventh year Dark Arts” – she said the word as if it were a curse – “lesson, in the middle of what appears to be a mass duel, whilst the so-called ‘professor’ tortures a student with an Unforgivable Curse!!”

It was a fairly accurate summary of the situation. Professor McGonagall glared down at Amycus, who stared back with loathing, but was unable to do anything else thanks to the full Body-Bind curse she had cast upon him. Ginny reached down and gripped Niamh’s hand, which was clammy with sweat. She tore her eyes away from McGonagall’s irate figure and shared a look with her friend, trying to convey her gratitude, guilt and anguish at what Niamh had been put through for her sake. Niamh gave her fingers a very weak squeeze.

McGonagall was still speaking to Amycus in a tone of the utmost dislike and disdain. “You may be enjoying your ill-gotten, wrongly-elevated position in charge of disciplinary actions in this school, Mr. Carrow, but I am still the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, and-”

“Oh but you ain’t, Minerva,” came a cackling voice from behind McGonagall. Ginny’s insides went ice-cold.

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly and then with a look of furious scorn, swung to face the hunched figure of Alecto Carrow, who stood smirking just outside the dungeon. She was holding a piece of paper.

“And just _what_ do you mean by that?” demanded McGonagall.

“This is an official decree by _headmaster_ Severus Snape,” replied Alecto, “removing you from your position as deputy headmistress, with immediate effect. You might’ve enjoyed being Dumbledore’s lapdog, but there’s a new system now, and there ain’t no teacher who ranks higher than us. And we’ve got permission to punish students by _whatever_ means we want to. So stay out of our way, Minerva, or else you won’t be a professor no longer either.”

For a long moment the two women stared at each other, Alecto smug, McGonagall stony-faced, and the dungeon held its breath.

“You are despicable,” McGonagall declared finally. She turned away and addressed Ginny.

“Miss Weasley, please escort Miss Dublin to the hospital wing. Miss Whitecross,” – this was Kimberley – “accompany Miss Weasley and ensure that you collect sufficient chocolate for the rest of your class.” Her eyes passed over Goyle, who was covered in boils from a Furnunculus curse, and the Stunned Pansy Parkinson. “Mr. Goyle, revive Miss Parkinson and then proceed to the hospital wing.” Then she looked at Neville, taking in his white face and determined, angry expression. Her face softened slightly. “Mr Longbottom, my office, please.”

She swept out of the room. For a moment nobody moved, and then Neville slowly got up and followed her. Ginny helped Niamh to her feet, and with Niamh leaning heavily on her, one arm around her neck, they made their way out of the classroom, Kimberley by their side. Ginny was afraid the Carrows might try to stop them all leaving, but neither of them attempted to. She realised that there was no need; they had all year to do whatever they pleased to the students of Hogwarts. The thought made her feel slightly sick, but she put it out of her head for the time being. There was nothing she could do about it at that moment.

“Ginny… I’m really sorry,” Niamh said quietly as they made their way slowly along a corridor.

Ginny looked at Niamh in astonishment and saw the glint of a tear track on her cheek.

“Niamh, why on earth should you be-”

“It was my fault that the fighting broke out back there,” Niamh said in a small voice. “It was all over me. If I could just have taken the punishment then none of the others would have got hurt…”

“Niamh, that had nothing to do with it,” Ginny told her flatly. “It was about all of us standing up to the Carrows throwing their weight around, threatening and bullying people with horrible punishments. Besides, if you’d lain down and let yourself be Cursed, then Amycus would have moved on to everyone else after he’d finished with you, and the result would have been the same. Maybe worse. People got hurt because of the Carrows, _not_ you.”

Niamh was silent for a few moments. Then she said shakily, “Well, I did kind of just lie down… in an indirect sort of way…”

Ginny laughed. She really appreciated Niamh’s attempt at humour even after going through such a horrible experience. Then she sobered up.

“If anyone should be apologising, it’s me,” she said. “You got hit by the Cruciatus Curse on my behalf… and I was the one who got everyone else landed in detention in the first place. I should have just kept my mouth shut yesterday.”

“No, Ginny, you shouldn’t have!” said Niamh, and shock lent her voice a little more strength. “It’s like you just said – it’s about all of us standing up to the Carrows – you did it first, and maybe that’s why everyone else followed suit just now. I mean… that’s why I did it. Pushed you out of the way, I mean.” She was staring at the floor, her face red. “I just wanted to try and be as brave as you were. Like a Gryffindor should be.”

Ginny was both surprised and heartwarmed by this revelation. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly good example to anyone. In a way, she herself had just been following examples – set by her friends, and parents, the Order members, and anyone else she knew who stood up for what they knew was right even if it was dangerous. It was nice to know she’d passed it on to Niamh, as well.

 

That night, Ginny couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept buzzing with thoughts, plans, memories of the past few days and of the awful things the Carrows had said… McGonagall, no longer deputy headmistress… Snape, ruling over a Hogwarts where corporal punishment was freely used… anger, resentment and indignation burned through her veins and finally she sat up, frustrated. It was no good, lying here in bed and dwelling on everything. She needed a change of scene.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into her slippers. Wrapping a dressing-gown around herself, Ginny tiptoed through the dormitory and down the girls’ stairs into the common room. She had expected it to be completely dark and deserted by now, but to her surprise, it was dimly lit by the glow of a dying fire, and sitting in front of it, gazing into the flames, was Neville. He seemed not to hear her approach, and didn’t look round until she said, “Can’t sleep?”

He jumped and directed a rueful smile at her. “Mmmm. I guess not.” They both knew this was a lie, since Neville was still fully dressed in his school robes.

Ginny sat down in the chair next to him. “What did McGonagall want earlier?” she asked. She hadn’t yet had the chance to discuss the day’s events with Neville, having missed him at dinner.

Neville wearily rubbed a hand over his eyes. “She gave me a Ginger Newt… She was basically telling me to be careful, saying that I shouldn’t become too focused on following in my parents’ footsteps in case it puts me in danger… I knew she was trying to say ‘in case I end up like them’. And she said they wouldn’t want me to jeopardise my safety.” He paused for a few moments, and then asked softly, “But how am I supposed to know what they would want?”

Ginny had no idea what to say. For all the experiences she shared with Neville, she would never be able to empathise with the feeling of growing up as he and Harry had, without your parents. She couldn’t even imagine growing up without one parent. In the time that she’d known Harry, he hadn’t mentioned his parents all that often, but always spoke of them with a yearning that conveyed a lifetime spent wondering, “What if…?” And Neville had never spoken about his parents before this. She, Ron, Hermione and Harry had only stumbled upon the truth about their condition by pure accident. But she could identify the same tone of voice in him now.

Eventually she said, “You can’t know. But even if you did, it would still ultimately be down to you.”

It seemed like weak advice, but Neville nodded. For a while, they sat in silence, watching the embers of the fire dwindle into nothing. Neither of them moved to rekindle it.

It was he who broke the silence this time. “I’ve just been thinking,” he began. “About today, and the Carrows’ attitude towards us and towards McGonagall… They’re so damn sure that no-one can best them, so smug about this new ‘system’ that puts them above all the other teachers… it makes me want to take them down a peg.”

Ginny rested her chin on her hand and raised her eyebrows to say, “Go on.” She was interested, but she had no idea where he was going with this.

“I just want to do something that will make an impact, that will leave a message that says they can’t just push us around… that there are those of us who won’t just roll over, who are going to fight back. I want to let them know there’s a resistance. See if we can’t make them a little afraid of us for once.” He smiled grimly.

“A message, eh?” said Ginny. She thought about the extensive supply of mischief-making items Fred and George had left her, among which were quite a few cans of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes patented Never-Erase Paint.

“Technically they _do_ erase,” Fred had said, “after a fashion. But it takes quite a bit of spellwork to manage it, so it’s about outside the capabilities of someone like… Filch, for example.”

“Neville, I have an idea…” Ginny began.

 

The next morning, half the castle was woken at dawn by Filch’s furious cursing as he surveyed what had somehow, entirely without his detection, occurred during the night. Daubed across several different walls of the castle, including some of the outside walls, classrooms and especially the dungeons, were two-foot high messages written with Never-Erase Paint in fetching shades of purple and pink:

**DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY IS FIGHTING BACK  
DUMBLEDORE  > YOU-KNOW-WHO  
JOIN THE RESISTANCE!  
DUMBLEDORE DEFIES DIRTY DEATH-EATERS  
DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY, STILL RECRUITING**


	6. Potterwatch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains copious amounts of Neville/Hannah fluff. And a bit of Neville/Luna, because I like that pairing.
> 
> It's also over 8,000 words long @_@

In the two-bedroomed flat above number ninety-three, Diagon Alley, home to the esteemed haven for magical trickery _Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,_ Fred Weasley was going through his old school robes.

Yes, as much as their mother would probably have a fit if she knew, Fred and George had not touched their old school robes since their dramatic, triumphant exit from an Umbridge-controlled Hogwarts one and a half years ago. Not even to clean them. Hence why Fred was sure that his spare quill would still be in the pockets somewhere.

 _“You’re lucky you haven’t got a nest of Doxies in there!!”_ he could imagine his mother shrieking if she could see the state of his wardrobe. Which was precisely the reason why Fred and George had still not invited her up to see the flat, in spite of her repeated hints that she would like to see it. _Like to clean it, is more likely,_ thought Fred as he shook out another set of black robes, releasing a cloud of dust and a rather musty smell, before delving into the pocket and groping around. But instead of the soft strands or sharp nib of a quill, his fingers met the hard, cool metal of a Galleon. Fred pulled it out in delight.

 _Brilliant! This almost makes up for breaking my fifth-_ His train of thought was cut off as the Galleon suddenly glowed hot. Fred almost dropped it in surprise. His eyes widened as he realised two things: this was the fake Galleon he had been given as part of Dumbledore’s Army at Hogwarts; and if it was glowing, that meant someone was using theirs.

His first thought was of Harry and whether he might be using the Galleon to send a message from wherever he, Ron and Hermione had disappeared off to. Fred ran his finger around the edge of the coin, trying to find the place where the serial number would normally be, replaced in this instance by a series of numbers giving the time and date of… _Ah-ha._

“FRED!” his twin bellowed from downstairs where he was working in the shop. Fred moved towards the doorway, eyes still on the Galleon, reading the numbers around the edge. _8•00… time first… then date… 15•10•97… Wait, that’s tomorrow!_ He descended the stairs and almost collided with George.

“Did we sell out of Nosebleed Nougat or do we have another case in the back?” George asked. Fred didn’t reply, still trying to work out who could have changed the message on their Galleon that caused all the others to follow suit. It looked as if it was being used for Dumbledore’s Army meetings again. Could it be someone at Hogwarts – Ginny?

“Earth to Fred?” said George. “Look, you’ve got two ears so there’s no excuse for not hearing me.”

“Hmm?” Fred looked up. “All right, Crater-Face, keep your lug on. Look what I found.” He held up the fake Galleon.

George looked at it blankly. “You found a Galleon,” he said. “What, did you lose a Knut?”

Fred shook his head and tossed it to him. “It’s a fake,” he said. “Remember? Dumbledore’s Army? And someone is still using theirs.”

George’s eyes widened in comprehension, in the exact same way that Fred’s had done ten minutes ago. He turned the Galleon over in his hands, running his thumb around the edge just as Fred had. “Blimey. Do you know who it is?”

“No, but they’re using it in the exact same way as before, communicating times and dates, so my guess is that it’s someone at Hogwarts and they’ve restarted the DA. It could even be Ginny.”

George broke into a grin. “Brilliant! I bet it is. She always was a girl after our own heart – I bet she’s running circles round Snape right this very minute. We did train her rather well.”

“Exceedingly,” Fred agreed.

George was now reading the numbers on the side of the coin. “The 15th, that’s tomorrow. Reckon they’re still using the old Room of Requirement?”

“There’s nowhere better,” said Fred. A thought had just occurred to him. “George, you know that thing Lee’s doing, the wireless programme?”

“ _Potterwatch,_ yeah, what about it?”

“Isn’t the second transmission tomorrow evening?”

“Well, if it goes off according to plan and Death Eaters don’t come knocking at the door again, then yeah, it should be at eight.”

“Hmmmm.” Fred took the Galleon back from his twin and pocketed it. “And to answer your question, yes, we’re clean out of Nougat.”

 

Ginny set the date and time of the next DA meeting on her Galleon and pictured the fake Galleons belonging to the other members of Dumbledore’s Army glowing all across Hogwarts in pockets and on desks and inside bags as they changed to mimic hers. The DA had grown by a few members since its inception at the start of term, and Ginny regarded each new member as one less potential supporter for the Carrows, one more person to stand up against their brutal regime. Neville had persuaded Hannah Abbott to start coming again, who had in turn brought Susan Bones; Gryffindor Beaters Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote (who were back on the team this year after another impressive tryout) had also started coming to meetings; and last meeting Luna had brought a rather bemused Orla Quirke with her. It was another instance of Luna’s uncanny knack for reading people; Orla had been feeling extremely upset and betrayed after a friend performed the Cruciatus Curse on her during a detention, and Ginny thought they had all managed quite well to comfort her and give her something productive to focus her mind on.

It made Ginny shudder as she thought about the ways in which the Carrows were creating rifts between people, bringing out the worst in them – blind obedience, cowardice, fear-driven cruelty. In a month and a half of the Carrows’ reign of terror, things had not improved one bit. Hogwarts was now a disciplinary nightmare: none of the teachers wanted to subject pupils to the Carrows’ preferred brand of punishment, but there were fewer and fewer loopholes for them to exploit. They couldn’t let students go unpunished, and hardly anyone cared about losing House Points any more. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Vector had each landed themselves in trouble for trying to surreptitiously hold ordinary detentions without involving the Carrows. Now, sometimes, the thin figure of Snape or hunched silhouette of one of the Carrows skulked at the back of the classroom, ensuring that teachers did not hand out punishments of their own accord.

 _You’d think they all had better things to do with their time,_ thought Ginny in disgust the first time it happened during a Charms lesson. It reminded her forcibly of Umbridge inspecting lessons in her role as ‘Hogwarts High Inquisitor’. Some teachers were unaffected by the extra scrutiny, but others were noticeably rattled. Lavender Brown reported that Trelawney had almost had a nervous breakdown whilst teaching under the beady eye of Amycus Carrow (no doubt remembering Umbridge herself), and even Slughorn was sweating slightly as Snape oversaw one of his Potions lessons. It was absurd given that Slughorn must have taught Snape himself when Snape was a student at Hogwarts; yet Ginny couldn’t find it in herself to laugh at the situation.

A few hours after setting the date and time of the meeting, Ginny was startled to feel the Galleon in her pocket glow hot. She immediately looked around for Neville and Seamus as she took it out – had one of them decided to change the time or send a message? She located Neville, who was also in the act of pulling his coin out and looking around for _her._ Their eyes met and she shook her head in bewilderment. Then it occurred to her to look at the numbers around the edge and see what had changed. Her heart was thumping hard – was one of the DA in serious trouble?

What she saw was not a plea for help, however, but a string of numbers which didn’t form a coherent date and time, and a single word – _Phoenix._ Ginny looked from the numbers to the word and back again, trying to fathom the connection. ‘Phoenix’ seemed most obviously to signify the Order of the Phoenix, especially since this message had been sent by someone who’d been in the DA (though not every member of Dumbledore’s Army knew about the Order); was it some sort of a signature? A code name? Something to do with Dumbledore? And what were these numbers? Ginny tore off a scrap of parchment and copied them down: _106•2105•495•5._ She tried dividing them up with slashes to make dates, but they didn’t make sense like that, either. Ginny frowned, chewing her lip. Was it a safe combination? A set of co-ordinates? And who on earth had sent it? She felt sure that discovering the answer to one of the two unknowns (the nature of the message and its sender) would immediately lead to an answer for the other, but as it was, she knew neither.

Just then, Seamus climbed through the portrait hole and looked around for Neville and Ginny. Spotting them, he strode in their general direction, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey! Everything all right?” Neville got to his feet, and the two boys sat down at Ginny’s table.

“Everything’s fine,” Ginny replied.

Seamus lowered his voice to an undertone. “So what gives? What’s with the new message?”

“I wish I knew,” Ginny replied. Seamus’ eyebrows rose and he looked at Neville.

“It wasn’t you either?” Neville shook his head. Seamus frowned thoughtfully.

“Could have been one of the others then… We’ll have to ask them, though that defeats the object a bit.”

“It might not be anyone currently at Hogwarts,” Ginny pointed out. “A lot of people who had the you-know-whats have now left. Maybe that’s why they need them to get in touch.”

“Maybe… So then what does it mean?” But none of them could come up with a theory that fitted, and in the end they decided to leave it until the next DA meeting, where they could ask around about it.

 

The next morning at breakfast, Ginny received a pleasant surprise when the owl post arrived: a letter from Bill. Her mother had been faithfully keeping to her promise of writing every week, and Ginny loved the regular contact with home and the knowledge that everyone was still all right, even if her mother couldn’t give any details – but she hadn’t been expecting any of her brothers to write. Fred and George were busy running their joke shop (and had never been the best at keeping in contact in any case); Ron was off risking his life with Harry and Hermione; Charlie was busy with work for the Order; and Percy… well, the less said about Percy, the better. Ginny still felt the burn of anger and disillusionment every time she thought about him. But Bill, faithful in his role as the caring eldest brother, had found time to write to his little sister. Ginny eagerly broke the seal on the parchment.

“Oooh, you’ve got a letter! Who’s it from?” Niamh asked, peering over her shoulder at the scrawling handwriting.

“My brother Bill,” Ginny replied. The owl, a small and elegant grey bird that Ginny didn’t recognise (probably belonging to Fleur), pecked delicately at the cornflakes Niamh offered it. Ginny began to read Bill’s letter.

 _Hi Ginny, hope you’re keeping well and working hard. Mum told me about the subjects you’ve chosen for N.E.W.T level – great choices all round! Charlie would be particularly proud of you for doing Care of Magical Creatures (he’s been busy, but I’ll let him know next time he pops round). I’m sure it must be nice for you to chat with Hagrid on a regular basis too. Herbology’s another great practical subject – again following in Charlie’s footsteps! Potions, Charms and Transfiguration are all excellent choices; I took those three myself along with History of Magic and Arithmancy (I know, I know, but I found the goblin rebellions fascinating in spite of Binns’ best attempts to put me to sleep). McGonagall will work you like a slave driver in Transfiguration– Ginny smiled as she read that –but it’ll be worth it in the end. She’s the kind of teacher you can count on both inside lessons and outside. I hope you’re getting along all right with the new professors, too._

 _Fleur and I moved into our new cottage the other week. It’s really beautiful and feels very safe. It’s remote, but not completely out of reach in case someone needs us at short notice. Dad visited the other day, and we’ve told the rest of our group of friends that they can drop by if they ever need to. Speaking of which, Dad told me to let you know that if you feel like a holiday from Hogwarts, your aunt has invited us all to stay at any time._

 _That’s it for the news from me, then. I’d ask you to write back but I’m sure you’ve got far too much homework to do! The family is all well. If I’m too busy to write again for a while then just remember the old adage, “No news is good news.” Enjoy yourself at Hogwarts, and look after your friends,_

 _Bill_

Ginny traced the familiar handwriting with her eyes, feeling warm and reassured by her brother’s words. Even though he had to be careful with what he put in the letter in case it was read, he’d managed to communicate what he needed to. _“She’s the kind of teacher you can count on”_ – in other words, don’t forget that McGonagall is a trusted member of the Order, and go to her if you need to. _“Hope you’re getting along all right with the new professors”_ was as close at Bill could come to saying that he hoped Ginny hadn’t fallen foul of the two Death Eaters who were now in charge. _“The rest of the group”_ must have referred to the other Order members, for whom Bill’s cottage probably acted as a safe haven. And the bit about needing a holiday from Hogwarts... Ginny was fairly sure Bill was trying to tell her that if the worst came to the worst and they needed to go into hiding, they could stay with Auntie Muriel. She tried not to feel too glum about that prospect.

“Ginny!”

Ginny looked up from the letter to see who had called her name. With a start, she saw it was her first boyfriend, Michael Corner. Their relationship hadn’t ended on the best of terms, but they still spoke occasionally, and Ginny could respect that Michael was a faithful member of Dumbledore’s Army. He just tended to take inter-house rivalries a bit too seriously.

“Hi Michael, how are you?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“I’m fine.” He looked her up and down. “Ginny, you look different! Has something changed?”

Ginny nearly frowned in confusion – and then cottoned on to what he was referring to. “No, no, nothing’s changed,” she reassured him.

“Hmmm.” He nodded slowly. “Maybe I should ask Neville and Seamus for their opinion.”

“They’ll say the same thing,” Ginny told him. Niamh was looking between the two of them, utterly lost.

“Well, if you’re sure… I was having a discussion with Terry, Orla and Luna just now,” he said. “We were discussing a numerical problem, but none of us could come up with the answer. Can you help?”

Ginny shook her head. “Sorry, Michael. I don’t take Arithmancy. But isn’t there an Arithmancy Club meeting soon? You can take the problem to them. It’s always best to brainstorm these things as a group.”

Michael’s face cleared. “That’s a good idea, Ginny. I’ll see you in Charms, then…”

He walked off. Ginny hoped that she’d got her intended meaning across and that they hadn’t been talking at cross-purposes the entire time. Niamh was still staring at her.

“You two sounded… It was like you were talking in code!” she said in a hushed voice. Ginny smiled at her.

“Not really, it was just a bit of friendly chat. So, what lesson have we got first?”

She would know for sure whether he’d got the message that evening at the DA meeting, anyway.

 

Neville sat doodling numbers on a piece of parchment during yet another intolerable ‘Muggle Studies’ lesson. He wasn’t idly daydreaming, though; in fact it was taking all of his concentration to tune Alecto Carrow out and all of his willpower to keep from hexing her as she spewed forth another one of her venomous, bigoted diatribes. This lesson she was telling a twisted version of Hogwarts’ history and its founding, recasting Slytherin as the main player and the one who strove to maintain the purity of the next magical generation, whilst Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff consorted with “Muggles and Mudbloods”, diluting their bloodlines and their power.

 _It’s not even Muggle Studies any more_ , thought Neville, _it’s Advanced Magical Prejudice._ He could tell by the expressions on his classmates’ faces that they despised every word, but he did worry about the first-years and what effect a year of this sort of brainwashing would have on their view of the wizarding world. The sooner they could oust the Carrows from Hogwarts, the better.

To distract himself, he had been working on every possible permutation of the numbers that they’d all been sent, via the Galleons, by the unknown someone. He’d arranged them every which way, added them and divided them, looked for patterns and coded meanings; he came up with nothing every time. In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting to find anything. He had a feeling the answer was far more mundane. But it was giving him something to focus on.

A burst of colour out of the corner of his eye caught his attention – Seamus had shot red sparks from the end of his wand – a warning. Neville looked up in time to see Alecto Carrow advancing on him in fury.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” she shrieked. “ACCIO PARCHMENT!” Neville made a grab for the parchment but it slipped between his fingertips and flew into her hand.

The rest of the class looked on nervously as Alecto held the scrap of parchment up at eye level. Her eyes widened. Neville wondered what meaning, real or imagined, she could possibly find in a load of numbers and sums on a bit of parchment.

“You will stay behind after the lesson, _Longbottom,”_ Alecto spat, “to do your punishment. She glared around at the class. “ ** _What are you gawking at?!_** FIVE POINTS EACH FROM GRYFFINDOR!!”

None of the Gryffindors so much as flinched. Every house except for Slytherin (who kept mysteriously gaining points) was already in negative numbers, and no-one was really focused on winning the House Cup this year.

After the lesson, Neville stayed sitting at his desk while the rest of the class filed out, shooting him sympathetic glances. Neville wondered why Alecto had chosen to wait for the end of the lesson to exact her ‘punishment’, instead of making an example of him there and then as she usually did.

“STAND UP!” she shrieked. Neville slowly got to his feet. Alecto’s spell hit him like a punch in the chest; unprepared, he fell backwards into a row of desks, which toppled like dominoes. Neville grabbed at an upturned wooden leg and managed not to fall onto his backside; the corner of a table dug painfully into the small of his back. Alecto strode across the room as he hauled himself back upright, brandishing the scrap of parchment. She looked deranged.

“ **What is this?!** ” she demanded. “Is it a code?! IS THIS HOW YOU’VE BEEN COMMUNICATING??”

“Protego!” Neville cried before she could get any closer. Alecto stopped short on the other side of his shield and glared malevolently. “Communicating with who?”

“Your little friends!” Alecto spat. _“Dumbledore’s Army.”_

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Neville said coolly from the other side of his Shield Charm. “Is this something to do with that graffiti someone-”

“YOU KNOW VERY WELL IT IS, BOY!” shrieked Alecto. “YOU WROTE IT!!”

“Do you have proof of that?” Neville countered. Since his and Ginny’s initial bout of vandalism, they hadn’t done anything else major like it, but the DA had been leaving small messages here and there – on desks, mostly, or on bits of torn parchment left lying around in the Carrows’ classrooms. The faded remains of the original graffiti also lingered, defying Filch’s best attempts to erase them.

“Your reputation precedes you, boy,” Alecto replied. “I know you were at the Department of Mysteries.” Neville’s stomach turned over at the reminder of that weird, frightening place. “I also know you associate with _Harry Potter.”_ She waved the parchment at him again. “Did he put you up to this?! Is this how you’re contacting him??”

Neville laughed. He knew he should be more afraid, but the conclusion she had just leapt to was so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laugh. Plus Alecto’s evident fear of the DA gave him courage.

“You’re insane,” he stated. “I’m leaving.”

He moved towards the door, but Alecto was quicker. “IMPEDIMENTA!” The jinx slammed into Neville’s right side and he staggered. Alecto cackled wildly.

“Never turn your back on an armed opponent, idiot boy!”

 _Well, I won’t be making that mistake again,_ thought Neville. Admittedly, it had been sloppy of him; against another Death Eater it could have cost him his life. He still wasn’t sure whether or not Alecto might kill him in her mad quest for information. Neville raised his wand and scanned the classroom, looking for ways he could put their surroundings to use.

 _“Tell me what this means!”_ Alecto screeched. “CRUC-” Her spell was cut off as a desk rammed into her from behind. Neville seized his chance.

“Accio parchment!” he cried. Alecto clutched at it, but the force of Neville’s Summoning Charm tore the parchment, and only a small scrap remained in her grasp as the rest soared towards Neville’s outstretched hand. Though the numbers didn’t mean what Alecto thought they meant, Neville couldn’t risk her discovering their real purpose, whatever that might be. He knew it had something to do with resisting Voldemort, and that was enough to make him guard the information with his life.

“You little piece of blood traitor _scum,”_ Alecto hissed. She flicked her wand, and Neville felt a sharp pain slash across his cheek, as though a knife had scored a line across it. He put up a hand to feel the cut; it was quite shallow.

“Is that the best you can do?” he asked. He still wasn’t sure where this new bravado was coming from. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, I suppose,_ he thought. He could remember all the times that Harry had stood up to Umbridge, even through weeks of detentions where he was forced to write lines in his own blood; even when he could so easily have kept his mouth shut and said nothing. It used to give people hope, and Neville wanted to be able to do the same, now that making a stand was even more crucial than it had been back then.

“Watch your tongue, boy,” snarled Alecto. “If you was a Mudblood I’d have spilled your filthy blood all over the floor by now.”

Neville wiped at the cut, smearing his hand with so-called ‘pure’ blood. So this was what was keeping him alive. Really, he should have known. He felt suddenly reckless with the assurance that she wasn’t about to kill him.

“Well, in any case,” he said, “I’m sure your master will be pleased to hear that you’ve been letting a bunch of school kids run rings around you. Really delighted.”

Alecto’s face twisted in utter fury.

“DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, BOY?!” she shrieked. Neville was a little more prepared this time, and jerked backwards to avoid the slash of her spell. It sliced his chin, and he realised it would have cut across his throat if he hadn’t dodged. Maybe he’d pushed things a little too far.

“CRUCIO!” Neville threw himself to the floor to avoid the curse, banging his shoulder on an overturned chair as he did so.

“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, aiming his wand as best he could from under the debris of furniture.

It _worked,_ and Alecto’s wand went spinning away from her hand. She screamed with rage and grabbed at it, but it landed on top of a cupboard out of her reach.

Neville climbed to his feet, panting slightly.

“I think I can safely turn my back on you now,” he said, and left the room, victory pounding in his ears.

 

His confrontation with Alecto caused him to miss half of Herbology, but on the whole, Neville thought it had been worth it. He felt so defiant and _powerful_ – for the first time in his life, he’d stood up to someone who bullied him and actually _won._ He could still remember every single time that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had bullied and tormented him over the years, and the way it had made him feel so worthless, like he ought to just shrivel up and disappear. He’d often wished for an Invisibility Cloak or a Disillusionment Charm, something that would let him fade into the background so that they wouldn’t pick on him. And everything they said had only affirmed Snape’s insults about his lack of magical ability and general intelligence, and his grandmother’s unfavourable comparisons between himself and his dad. This felt like the time at a Quidditch match in first year when he’d turned around to Malfoy and said, “I’m worth twelve of you” and actually believed it.

Neville realised all of a sudden how much he missed Harry – not just as a figurehead, the ‘Chosen One’ or even the leader of the DA, but as a friend who had always acted like Neville was worth something.

He hurried to Greenhouse Five and gave his apologies to Professor Sprout as he walked in. She looked aghast at the state of him.

“Mr. Longbottom – Miss Patil told me you’d been kept back after Muggle Studies – but you’ve been injured! You should have gone to Madam Pomfrey!”

Neville smiled slightly at Professor Sprout’s concern, wiping at his cheek again. It was still painful, especially when he moved his mouth and the skin pulled, but he thought the bleeding was lessening. The same could not be said for his chin, however.

“Thanks, Professor, but I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it!” Professor Sprout retorted. She pulled out her wand and pointed it first at his cheek, then at his chin, saying, “Tergeo.” Neville flinched as the cut smoked and stung, cleaning itself. He felt the skin around it; the dried blood had all gone.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Now put your dragonhide gloves on and try not to get those cuts infected,” Professor Sprout ordered.

“Yes, Professor.”

Neville caught the anxious gaze of Hannah Abbott, who appeared to have been watching the whole exchange. He smiled at her, and went to share a table with her and Susan Bones.

“Neville, what did she do to you?” whispered Hannah, staring at him over the swaying fronds of a Devil’s Snare seedling.

“She just…” Neville hesitated. Hannah and Susan were both in the DA, but it still felt risky talking about it openly here. “She was just asking me some questions. Violently.”

Susan smiled wryly at his attempt at humour and poured a cascade of water onto her newly-repotted seedling, neatly avoiding its grasping tentacles, before sealing it back inside its protective bubble and waving her wand so that it turned opaque, creating the dark atmosphere that Devil’s Snare plants were so fond of.

Hannah, however, continued to look steadily at Neville, worry in her bright blue eyes. He gave her an awkward smile, and busied himself with filling up a pot of damp compost and shovelling fertiliser on top with a small trowel.

“I’ll, um, tell you later, anyway,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“All right,” said Hannah softly. He looked up again to find her still watching him. Susan glanced over at her two friends and rolled her eyes.

The relationship between Neville and Hannah had been subtly different ever since he’d asked her if she was willing to rejoin Dumbledore’s Army. No – actually, it went back to before that. Neville had started seeing Hannah in a different light during their membership of the DA in fifth year. One meeting he’d just noticed, suddenly, how pretty she looked when she was duelling: her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes intent with concentration, the light gleaming off her golden hair. It was just a fleeting moment where he’d looked across the Room of Requirement and seen her, but it was enough. In the next instant he’d had to quickly defend himself against a hex Hermione sent his way, using the Shield Charm they’d been practicing that session. There was a time when he’d had a crush on Hermione herself, but he realised now that it had been a very silly one, just a schoolboy infatuation with the kind and clever witch who had saved him from so many difficult situations. Besides, he didn’t really fancy getting on Ron’s bad side.

After that moment in the DA meeting, Neville’s affection for Hannah grew with every Herbology lesson they spent tending to plants side by side, and every DA meeting where they practiced spells a few metres apart; but he never dreamed of acting on it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Hannah would give someone like him a second glance; and anyway, for a while he was sure there was something going on between her and fellow Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley. (Though if there had been, it didn’t appear to have come to anything). Instead he went pink when their hands brushed in Herbology as he passed her a pair of pruning shears; and during DA meetings he would sneak glances at her whenever he could, until that joyous meeting when Susan, her usual practice partner, was ill.

“Hi, Neville,” Hannah had said shyly. “Want to practice together?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” he’d replied, trying not to seem too eager.

Unfortunately, not long after that fantastic meeting (definitely his favourite of all time, if he was honest) came the mass breakout from Azkaban and the news that Bellatrix Lestrange was on the loose once again. From then on, frivolous things like crushes on pretty Hufflepuff girls went out the window. All Neville could think about was the possibility of a confrontation with his parents’ torturer. He’d wanted to do his parents proud if he faced off against her. He’d wanted to make Bellatrix pay for what she’d done.

Then came the Department of Mysteries and a desperate struggle against Death Eaters and being tortured by Bellatrix and the anguish at breaking his father’s wand and mixed with the failure, once again, to live up to his legacy… but there was the relief at having survived – that they’d all survived, all of his friends – followed by a joyful, shy, clumsy kiss with Luna that he didn’t quite know what to make of… She had never appeared to regard him, or anyone else for that matter, as anything more than friends; and so Neville had never thought of her in that way either, even though he’d always thought she was very pretty. Over the summer he’d fretted about what it might mean; they’d written to each other a couple of times, but she’d never mentioned it; and at the beginning of last year, when he’d finally worked up the courage to bring the topic up, she’d only smiled at him serenly and said it was all right for friends to kiss each other, wasn’t it?

Which left him feeling very confused and with an entire host of butterflies in his stomach.

After that he couldn’t quite forget about the kiss, which had been his first, and quite a nice one at that; but he still liked Hannah very much, even though he only saw her in Herbology now that there were no more DA meetings. He still couldn’t bring himself to ask her out, though; and then it was too late and Hannah had gone, and every time he thought about her it was with a stab of sadness, wondering if she was all right.

In the summer holidays, he’d written to her, but she hadn’t replied. It hadn’t been a very good letter anyway, mind you; he’d revised it about four times before he’d found the right words to say, and even then, it just sounded… inadequate.

Which is why he’d been nervous about approaching her this year to ask about the DA, wondering if maybe she, too, thought he was a bit pathetic. But he told herself that he just had to grit his teeth and talk to her, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the budding resistance which she could very well want to be a part of.

“Hannah.” He’d caught up with her on the way out of the greenhouses after Herbology. “Can I, uh- I mean- I have a question for you.”

Hannah turned, and unexpectedly, her face lit up, her cheeks going slightly pink. “Neville! Hi! Yes, of course! Uh, Susan, do you mind if-”

“Yes, I’ll give you two some privacy,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Hi, Neville.”

“Hey, Susan. How was your summer?”

She shrugged. “It was all right.” To Hannah she added, “Don’t be too late for dinner. I’ll try and save you a seat.”

Hannah watched her go, looking sad. “She really hasn’t been the same, since her Auntie Amelia… She and her aunt were really, really close. I know Susan looked up to her so much. I only met her once, but I really liked her… It’s so unfair for their family to lose yet another person.” Her voice wobbled. “Yet even through all that, she’s been so supportive to me…”

Neville wasn’t sure what had prompted Hannah to talk about this to him, but he had a feeling it had been on her mind lately. Maybe she hadn’t been able to talk about it to anyone else.

“And… how are you doing?” he asked tentatively.

Hannah sighed and bit her lip. They were walking slowly in the direction of the castle, in no particular hurry to get there. It was a few minutes before she came up with a response.

“I… I never really know how to answer that, when someone asks me,” she said in a small voice. “People ask me how I’m coping, but I don’t even know whether I am. How do you define ‘coping’ anyway? Does ‘coping’ mean that you don’t constantly think of them and wish they were here with you? Does it mean you stop wanting to grab a Time Turner and go back and do anything to stop it happening?” Her eyes were brimming with tears. Neville looked at her, his heart pounding almost painfully as he searched for the right words to say. His parents weren’t dead, but he could empathise with all of those feelings all the same.

“No, I don’t think it means that,” he said. “When people say ‘coping’, I guess they just mean going on with your day-to-day life… Doing the things that they would want you to do, only… without them.”

Hannah nodded. Her shoulders were hunched, and he wanted so badly to put his arm around her, but he didn’t know how she would take it. They walked in silence together for some time.

“I got your letter,” Hannah suddenly said. “It was really nice of you to write… I’m sorry I didn’t reply.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Neville. “I didn’t really expect – that is, um, it was up to you. Whether you wanted to or not. I know you must have had other things on your mind.”

“The truth is, I did try to write back,” Hannah confessed with a tiny laugh. “I wrote about five different versions and screwed them all up… None of them really sounded right.”

It was such an exact echo of Neville’s own experience in writing his letter that he was inclined to burst out laughing. He squashed it down so that it was only a chuckle. Hannah looked at him in surprise. “Sorry, it’s just, I did the exact same thing,” Neville explained. “Really, it’s a miracle it got sent to you at all.”

Hannah smiled up at him, a genuine smile, and he felt the horde of butterflies return to his stomach. He could feel himself blushing as he returned her smile. They were nearing the castle now.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I completely hijacked this conversation,” said Hannah, going pink again. “What question did you want to ask me?”

“Ah…” Neville looked around; he felt like they were too close to the castle for comfort, now. “Do you mind if we walk around a bit more?”

“Okay,” said Hannah, a little puzzled. They set off back the way they’d come. Once they were a safe distance from the castle, Neville began,

“It’s about the DA… Even though Harry’s not here any more, we – that is, me, Ginny, Luna and Seamus – thought that we should start it back up. Well, we sort of already have.” He suddenly worried that she would be angry with him for not asking her sooner. “I’ve been looking for the right moment to ask you… if you want to be a part of it?”

He glanced at her sidelong. Hannah’s expression was thoughtful. Then her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. That graffiti – that was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that was me and Ginny,” Neville admitted.

“The DA’s been at the back of my mind since I read the messages,” said Hannah. “But I didn’t know who’d actually written it… I should have known, really, though. Who else would it have been?” She gave him another small smile.

“It made me wonder whether I _would_ join the DA again if it re-formed. I even discussed it with Susan a bit. She said she’d be all for it, but I thought it might be really dangerous…” Her expression hardened. “It only took one more lesson with those Carrows to make my mind up, though. To think that this is just a little bit of what Hogwarts would be like with You-Know-Who in charge – to say nothing of the rest of the country. I’d do anything not to let that happen.”

Hannah’s fists were clenched. Without really planning it, they’d come to a halt somewhere in the middle of the grounds. Hannah stared at the grass. Neville watched her, wondering what she was thinking. Finally she took a deep breath and lifted her head to look him in the eye.

“So yes, I want to be a part of Dumbledore’s Army again,” she said firmly.

Neville grinned. “It’ll be great to have you back.”

 

Since then, Neville and Hannah had taken to walking to DA meetings together. It wasn’t intentional at first, but somehow they always seemed to run into each other in the corridor a few minutes before the meeting, sometimes with Susan or Seamus. After it had happened a few times, Neville started making a habit of leaving at the exact same time and ensuring that he met up with Hannah along the way.

The evening after they’d been sent the mysterious numbers, he and Hannah reached the Room on the dot of eight o’clock. Ginny and Luna were already there, but no-one else; however, the others all turned up in short order. The last to arrive was Ernie MacMillan.

“So sorry I’m late,” he apologised, pulling the door shut behind him. “I, er, fell asleep in the library.”

A few people laughed. Ernie rubbed his hands together. “So, what do we think of those numbers, eh? Cracked them yet? I must say it was a bit of a puzzle, but the answer occurred to me in short order.”

Everyone looked at him blankly.

“You mean, you know what they are?” Ginny asked, breaking the dumbfounded silence.

“Of course! Well, that is to say, I have a theory which seems to fit rather well. I wouldn’t presume to say that I am _right,_ necessarily, but we could test it out rather easily, in any case.”

“What is your theory, then?” asked Seamus, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate further.

“Why, radio stations, of course!” said Ernie. A general groan of realisation went up, with a few cries of “Of course!” Ginny’s forehead met the palm of her hand with quite a loud smack.

“But what kind of radio stations, I can’t say,” Ernie continued. “Do we have a wireless in here?”

 _I need a radio,_ thought Neville, and in the next instant he spotted one sitting on a small table in the corner. He was positive neither the wireless nor the table had been there before.

“Yeah, here’s one,” he said. He got up and carried the table to the centre of the room. Everyone shuffled around, rearranging themselves so that they were sitting in a circle around the wireless.

“Now, what were the numbers?”

“The first one was 106.2,” said Lavender. Neville nodded and took out his wand.

“Well, shall I do the honours?”

There was general agreement, and so Neville began tapping on the top of the radio with his wand. _One…_ he tapped the radio once. _Zero…_ He waited a few seconds. _Six…_ He tapped on the radio six times. The others watched as Neville finished tapping out the station number; they all listened, but all that issued from the radio was static.

“Maybe this is why we were given three station numbers. We should try one of the others,” said Ginny.

“Wait a minute,” said Susan. “Wasn’t there a word as well?”

“Of course!” said Neville, and wanted to kick himself. “Phoenix.” Nothing happened, but undeterred, Neville tapped out the rhythm again, a little quicker this time, saying, “Phoenix.”

They all jumped as a voice suddenly spoke out of nowhere. “…you’re listening to Potterwatch, a new radio programme which tells the truth that the _Daily Prophet_ and the other WWN stations try to cover up. I’m your affable host, River.”

“Isn’t that Lee Jordan?!” exclaimed Parvati.

“Joining me in our undisclosed studio location are two guests who I hope will become regular contributors to this programme, Romulus-”

“Hello,” said a voice, a very familiar voice, but Neville couldn’t quite identify it from that one word. He saw a few others exchange glances; Ginny leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the radio.

“-and Rapscallion.”

“Hi there!” This time it was a woman’s voice, and completely unfamiliar, but youthful and upbeat.

“Many thanks, you two, for making time to take part in this evening’s programme. First, let’s kick things off with some key news items the _Prophet_ isn’t reporting. Well-known Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt has managed to escape after being confronted by a group of Death Eaters in his London home. Mr. Shacklebolt succeeded in fighting off his numerous opponents and is now in hiding.

“Meanwhile, there has been no new information on the whereabouts of Charity Burbage, former Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who was reported missing some months ago following an impassioned defense of Muggle-borns in the Daily Prophet. The official position from ‘headmaster’ Severus Snape is that Professor Burbage has retired, but her friends and relatives assert that this is not the case. Due to the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, it is strongly suspected that she was abducted by Death Eaters.” A few people exchanged agonised glances at the news.

“Increased numbers of Dementors congregating around urban areas are taking their toll on Muggles and wizards alike, and reports indicate that the elderly and infirm are especially at risk from these soul-draining creatures. Folks, if at all possible when venturing outside, take a friend who knows the Patronus charm along with you, or better still, try to learn how to do one yourself.

 

“And now let’s hand it over to our first guest, Rapscallion, for an update on the welfare of the many Muggle-borns in hiding or on the run from the many Ministry of Magic officials attempting to incarcerate, interrogate or eradicate them. Rapscallion.”

“Thanks, River,” said ‘Rapscallion’ cheerfully. “For those among our listeners who might not know this, the new Ministry of Magic has been systematically targeting anyone of Muggle birth and forcing them to prove their wizarding heritage. If they can’t, they’re deemed to have stolen their magical ability and labelled as criminals. Muggle-born children have also been banned from attending Hogwarts School.” Her voice was bitter. “The new policy has prompted an outbreak of workers all over the country attempting to discredit their colleagues’ Blood Status and steal their positions. Neighbourhoods and even families have fractured as people are informing on each other left, right and centre. At the same time there is a flourishing black market for forged identity documents, particularly birth certificates and family trees – anything that can help a Muggle-born to prove that they do indeed have a wizard or witch in the family.”

Her tone became humorous again. “In particular, it seems like a lot of dead witches and wizards have found they are now closely related to a living Muggle-born whom they’d probably never met while they were alive. The families of other living witches and wizards have begun to expand rapidly as they acquire Muggle-born cousins, half-siblings, nieces and nephews, grandchildren… And all with the appropriate documentation to prove it. Now, while I don’t officially condone the forging of identity documents, I can commend anyone who does take it upon themselves to protect a Muggle-born friend in this way. We’re all of equal magical ability, no matter what the Ministry wants us to believe.”

“Nicely put, Rapscallion,” said Lee. “Now we turn to Romulus, our other guest, who is going to bring us a feature we like to call ‘Pals of Potter’, which gives information on the friends and supporters of the ‘Chosen One’, the ‘Boy Who Lived’, the man with the lightning scar, a.k.a. Harry Potter. Over to you, Romulus.”

“Thank you, River,” said ‘Romulus’ pleasantly, and Neville realised with a jolt that he knew who the voice belonged to.

“Lupin! It’s Professor Lupin!”

Ginny smiled and nodded. Parvati and Lavender both gasped with realisation. The only person who looked confused was Laura, who had never been taught by Lupin.

“You mean our old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” exclaimed Hannah. “Oh, wow! It’s so great to know he’s okay! I liked him.”

Terry Boot put a finger to his lips as they listened to what Lupin was saying on the radio.

“-even if I hadn’t seen him with my own two eyes a little over a month ago, I would be convinced that Harry Potter is still alive,” Lupin said firmly. “There is no doubt in my mind about that.”

“Well, that’s a great encouragement to everyone out there who’s giving it their all in the belief that he is alive and will be able to take down the Chief Death Eater in the near future,” said Lee. “Can you tell us a bit about those people?”

“Perhaps the most outspoken of the Harry Potter’s supporters is the editor of the _Quibbler_ magazine, Xenophilius Lovegood,” said Lupin.

At this, everyone immediately turned to look at Luna, who appeared to have been staring into space and didn’t look as if she was paying attention at all. However, she smiled broadly at the mention of her father’s name.

“The _Quibbler_ has recently departed from its usual… niche subject matter and turned itself into the only publication which is printing the truth about goings-on in the wizarding world, much like what we aim to do here. Recent issues have included some very practical defence tips, along with some more unorthodox suggestions; but the point is, if it comes down to choosing whether to subscribe to the _Daily Prophet_ or the _Quibbler,_ these days the _Quibbler_ is a far more worthwhile choice. Our kudos go out to Mr. Lovegood for being the only one brave enough to speak out on these extremely important matters.”

“Kudos indeed,” said Lee. “Right, that about wraps things up for tonight. We hope to be back on the air sometime soon; next programme’s password is ‘Auror’. Keep each other safe: keep faith. Goodnight.”


End file.
